


Regression

by frankenmoonmoon



Category: Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Arkham Asylum, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, F/M, Gotham Sirens, Mad Love AU, Manipulation, Role Reversal, Schizophrenia, Self-Medication, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-08-19 06:07:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8193142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankenmoonmoon/pseuds/frankenmoonmoon
Summary: Mad Love, role reversal AU (cause why not?). Dr. Ned Jerome is a prized psychiatrist At Arkham Asylum not just because he's "good" with his patients; he understands them. Having been a gang member delinquent as a youth, known simply as "The Joker", Dr. J is a rather effective doctor with the criminally insane. He's been attempting to leave that part of his past behind, but his latest patient, Harley Quinn inspires the inner sadistic clown in him to want to come out and play. But he better treat Harley well... because he has the other two of the Gotham Sirens trio breathing down his neck... waiting for him to slip up.Rated mature for later  chapters.





	1. Chapter 1

Trixie the clinic receptionist tapped her pen anxiously against the patient list before her. This new job of hers at the tattoo removal clinic was boring as balls, but it paid well. She let out a sigh, absent-mindedly twirling her blonde hair around her index finger, glancing up at the clock. The day had just started and she was already craving lunch to escape the fluorescent and sterile surroundings that had come to drive her bonkers.

A few more hours to go.

She popped her bubblegum between her teeth and lifted the list up to squint at the next name. “Mr. … Ned Jerome?” she called out. A smooth and gentle voice replied back to her drawl inquiry.

“Dr. Ned Jerome.” it corrected her. Trixie ceased her incessant gum-chewing to glance up... to see a very attractive man walk up to the desk. ‘Attractive’ was far too subdue a word for the creature before her: he was gorgeous. His thick dark brown hair was slicked back, and his blue eyes… or were they maybe a mesmerizing hazel color?… were fierce and piercing against his evenly tan skin. His suit was crisp and form fitting; black with a faint charcoal pent-stripe design and a lavender dress shirt buttoned snugly up his long muscular throat. The top of a tattoo wasn’t completely hidden by his conservative attire: a deck of cards splayed out to reveal an ‘Ace’ atop of a few other cards that the receptionist couldn’t make out without continuing to awkwardly stare below his sharp jawline.

Dr. Jerome ignored the uncomfortable stare, apparently used to this sort of attention. He handed her the forms that he had picked up at the start of his visit. His hands were long and graceful. As the receptionist took the clipboard, she noticed the diamond, spade, heart, and club outlines on his index to pinky finger.

“Oooo! How cute!” She squealed. “Oh tell me you aren’t getting rid of those. They’re kinda sexy…”

The man looked up at that unprofessional comment, as if noticing Trixie for the first time. He stood, assessing her, piercing eyes scanning her pleasant, but over-makeuped face. His shapely brows finally un-furrowed and a grin spread across his lips.

The smile did not reach his eyes.

“You’re going to loose business this way, missy.” He said, his tattooed hand slowly balling into a loose fist and his other hand slipped over it to cover up the ink outlines.

Trixie let out a giggle that was a little louder then it should have been, turning the heads of some other patients. Dr. Jerome slightly winced.

Her laugh was obnoxiously grating.

“I'll just take this back to Dr. Hurse, our in-house practitioner, and then we’ll get you all situated. Okay Dr. Jerome?” She gave him a wink and carried the clipboard with his forms through a door behind her desk.

Jerome unbuttoned the rest of his suit jacket and slipped a hand into his pant pocket. Dr. Hurse; how appropriate a name for a man who laid to rest past lives with a needle. He looked up at the clock. In 12 minutes he would be late for work, since downtown Gotham traffic was always so unpredictable. He didn’t like being late. It threw everything in his day, which usually progressed like clockwork, off. He considered leaving the clinic when Trixie came back, minus his form.

“The doctor will see you now.” She said, more chipper than before. Beautiful people always put her in a good mood. This office received so few of them. “Good luck!”

The patient-to-be flashed her another humorless grin and proceeded to the door that she had referred to. In moments he was in another gray part of the clinic, with only a padded gurney covered in a sheet of sterile paper denoting that it was a place for patients. Jerome took a seat on the gurney and listened to the paper crinkle loudly under his slight movement; it was high enough that his even his long limbs dangled over the side. There was something in him that wanted to kick his feet in the air mirthlessly… but he stared down at his legs that hung there like led, refusing to budge.

“Dr. Ned Jerome?” Dr. Hurse’s entrance was abrupt and impersonal, his eyes glued to the papers before him. He was medium height man with a husky weight that made him appear stronger then he actually was. He retrieved a pen from his lab coat pocket, clicked it open, and began scribbling upon the paper already. “And how are we today?” The man didn’t even look up.

“We?” Jerome murmured. “How should ‘we’ be feeling?” his appealing lips quirked slightly.

“Good. Good to hear.” Hurse retorted, clearly not hearing or caring for an actual response. He put the clipboard down on a nearby stand. “So we want to remove some ink?”

“All of it.” Jerome curtly corrected the humorless doctor.

“And how extensive is the staining to your epidermis?” He asked, mentally noting the tattoos on the patient’s neck and right hand.

“Very.” 

A man of few words… and probably in a hurry. Dr. Hurse lightly slapped his hands against his own knees. “Alright then. Let’s take a look.”

Jerome seemed to hesitate, considering something. But he stood as he loosened his tie until it came away from his neck and then he slipped off his suit jacket. He placed both neatly upon the gurney before starting on the buttons at his throat. His gaze was on the floor as he stripped off the lavender dress shirt. He could hear the groan of Hurse’s chair as he leaned forward for a better look.

Hurse blinked. He had seen worse jobs, more expansive and darker, as these were more or less faded,… but the content of this particular patient was… unsettling. A skull with a jester hat; sickly grins, one on his right forearm, another below his navel; the seemingly endless “Ha ha’s” all over Jerome’s left pectoral and left arm… and a few small ones trailing down the “v” line below his cut abdominals, leading the way to his groin. Or so Hurse surmised.

“Well. It’s a lot. But nothing we can’t handle…” Hurse began, but Jerome turned his back to him, to reveal a red and gold dragon that filled the entire expanse of his back and waist in it’s coiled state. It’s head was tossed back, spewing a golden flame out of it’s grinning fanged jaw…

“Ah…that will be… yes.” Hurse pursed his lips, laying his pen down on the clip board once more. Already his mind was calculating to quickly end this appointment so he could contact the Gotham police. He now remembered why those grinning tats, especially the jester skull, unsettled him: over a decade ago, a gang known simply as ‘The Clowns’ terrorized the streets with deadly pranks; sick grins and skeletal harlequins it’s trademark.

And the red dragon…the Red Hood: hooded terror and thief. The age of the inks looked to be set around the right time of the appearances of the two villainous entities in Gotham. G.P.D. had given a list of tattoos for clinic doctors such as Hurse to look out for; to contact them immediately, as not all of the murderous affiliates had been found yet… though activity had remained stagnant. 

The Bat had made sure to that.

“Well…I…. oh look at the time.” Hurse said, a poor actor. “I’m afraid my next appointment is going to be here any… any moment. We’ll have to crunch the numbers, come up with a schedule… the receptionist will be in touch with you-”

Jerome had seized his wallet from his back pocket and rooted for a folded paper, now holding it in front of the doctors face. He figured this might happen. It had happened before. But usually the clinic doctors were good at pretending that they were going to follow through with the procedure. It wouldn’t be until he got home that the Police would be waiting for him. It got so bad that Commissioner Gordon finally issued a Orders of Protection for Dr. Jerome to carry on his person at all times to avoid police harassment.

Hurse blinked and took the paper. It acknowledged the holder’s past involvement in crime but absolved him, as he had been a minor, from those crimes and stated that he had already undergone mental evaluations, trial, and become a functioning member of society again. The Doctor let out a breath of relief.

“I apologize.” He chuckled. “I just… you can never be too careful. It’s Gotham, after all. You don’t know how many of Falcone’s men I get in-”

“I just want to move on from my past.” Jerome cut in, uninterested in this chit-chat. He folded the worn paper back up, placing it in his wallet once more. “These markings prevent that; prevent me from being taken seriously at work, frighten people on the streets… even effect my, what would other-wise be a very healthy and frequent, sex life.”

Hurse cleared his throat. “Understood. This procedure will be expensive-”

“Money is no object.”

The clinic doctor briefly wondered how exactly the ex-convict would manage to pay for the procedure, but remembered that the man claimed to be a doctor. And the G.P.D. issued paper had confirmed that.  
“You will need 7 weeks to heal between each session. It’s difficult to say how many months it will take; it will depend on how well you take to the laser removal. Do you mind if I take some before shots?”

Jerome’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

Hurse bit the inside of his cheek for his stupidity. “Of course.” He noticed that the patient had decided that the appointment was over, dressing in a precise, yet prompt manner. “See Trixie at the front about scheduling the first session…” The cold silence was too uncomfortable for him. “So you’re a doctor? That’s really something. Thats really… must be an interesting story there.” More silence. “So where do you-”

“Arkham Asylum. With the criminally insane.” Jerome fastened his tie, ready to be rid of this bland sheep of a man. He gave a disturbing glance at the over-weight doctor. “I guess you could say… I speak their language.”

Hurse swallowed down a glup as Jerome headed out the door and down the hallway. The psychiatrist had to bite down hard on his tongue, letting the sting comfort him while he counted back from 100. A stupid little calming device, but it was all that was keeping him on the path to Miss Trixie’s desk instead of entertaining the idea of circling back to Hurse and giving him a few throat punches.

The man’s fear bored Jerome. 

When he saw the blonde’s heavily make-up face again, however, he eased up on his tongue, slowly stretching his neck from side to side to release tension… reveling in the pops he could feel inside, giving a gruff sigh. He then opened his tantalizing eyes, fixing on the receptionist.

Trixie didn’t mind the strange display. She found it oddly erotic…


	2. Free Frost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gotta have Frost in there!

“Alright, inmate. It’s time.” said a callous voice. Heavy keys collided and clicked against the iron of the lock before the bars slid to the side. The loud CLANK as they reached the limit of the track made the prisoner flinch. 

“Ready to see the light of day, Jonathon B. Frost?” The guard took the toothpick that had been peeking out of the corner of his mouth and flung it to the concrete floor.

The meager boxspring of the inmate’s prison bed squeaked and groaned as Jonny Frost slowly rose to his feet. He stood a head taller than the two guards; imposing, broad and unkept. His specialty was weapons specialization. And snapping necks. But that was a lifetime ago, back when he was Falcone’s little cousin “Jon-Jon” and henchmen.

Back before Jonny had sold him out in exchange for his own freedom.

Jonny’s brown eyes shifted from one guard to the other. He had been permitted certain freedoms for good behavior and glowing feedback from his psychiatrist… but they still clung to their batons. He looked to see if there was a third person; someone who had promised to be there that day… but there was no one else.

The subdued giant’s hands slowly closed into fists and he held them up to be cuffed.

One of the guards nodded to the other to restrain Frost before they traveled, and to hurry. Inmates nearby were starting to get restless and noisy. They always did the when someone was able to leave through Arkham’s grim doors. 

And when someone new came in.

“Alright, Frost.” said the guard that had just cuffed the inmate. He was younger, fresh-faced; hadn’t lost his humanity to the asylum yet. “Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

He was permitted a shower, without fellow inmates there to harass him during his cleaning. It was early afternoon, so there was actually some hot water that came through the shower head. It was the first warmth that he had felt in this grimy cold place in years… He looked up, trembling from the realization, warm water mixing with the hot wetness that threatened to escape his eyes.

Next came the grooming. The only place he had been able to gaze upon his grizzly appearance had been the two-way mirror in the psychiatric unit of the hospital when he had been evaluated by Dr. Jerome. Now a buggy-eyed inmate placed a white sheet around his shoulders, like Jonny was at some fancy barber shop, and started trimming his beard.

Damn, it felt good to have some human contact, combing through his hair. Turning his face side to side in a gentle manner. He kept his eyes on the floor to keep from loosing it. It was embarrassing how much this was effecting him. 

He could hear light chortling from the guards in the background.

Once he was trimmed, shaved, and styled, he was taken to the retainment office. The two guards stood on either side of him while a middle-aged woman with big hair and chest took her sweet time retrieving his things.

His things.

He hadn’t owned anything in years either. The woman finally brought his fine clothes, which were pressed and wrapped tight in plastic for easy storage. The guards poked at Jonny’s sides, motioning for him to get dressed right there. He hesitated, with the woman watching, but he stripped off the orange prison outfit and adorned his own.

Though the clothes were a bit tighter then he remembered, the fabrics felt like a dream against his skin. No more itchy, stiff prison clothes. Not if he continued on the straight and narrow track. 

He expected another stop, but the guards hardly waited for him to put his id back in his wallet before seizing his arms to walk him though the maze of security gates to reach the side exit of the east wing, away from the front lobby. They pushed open the door unceremoniously and him through it, sunlight blinding his vision. His hands went up to shield his eyes, but they were roughly seized to have the cuffs removed for the last time. He rubbed his wrists, squinting at the guards, but they simply nodded their heads towards the stone stairs that he was to follow. He followed their glances to see Dr. Jerome leaning against a rather nondescript car, letting a set of keys dangle from his index finger. The doctor’s eyes were hidden by green-tinted aviator sunglasses.

Jonny made his way down the stairs, slowly, as his eyes adjusted to the afternoon sun. It was unseasonably sunny for a day in Gotham.

“How are you holding up?” Jerome asked when Frost and finally reached him.

He was the first person to ask that. Jonny’s lips trembled before he cleared his throat, collecting himself. “Fine…just fine, Doctor Jerome.”

The doctor rolled his eyes. “You’re out, Frost. We’re equals now. You can call me ‘J.’” He put the keys in Jonny’s large hand. “Your rental chariot awaits…and…” He reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and produced a small leather case. The ex-inmate accepted and opened it, seeing a nice set of sun glasses that looked costly; beneath them were a few folded hundred bills. “For the road.”

Jonny finally choked. “Th-thank you Doctor….J. I don’t know how I’ll ever-”

“Please don’t get mushy on me.” Jerome looked away, jaw tightening. “I don’t do ‘mush’.” 

His patient nodded, putting on the present and putting the case in his own jacket. He held out a large hand to the doctor. “I owe you a huge debt. And I’ll gladly pay it any way I can.” 

Jerome glanced at the offered hand and slowly accepted. He gave a firm shake and then put his hand back in his pant pocket. He felt his phone vibrate against his hip again, for the third time during this departure, but he ignored it.

“There goes another one…” one of the guards said. “…Out through Arkham Asylum’s ever revolving door.”

“You think Frost will be back?” the younger one inquired. 

“They always come back. That’s the nature of scum like him. Like all of them.”

Jerome’s ears burned. Not necessarily because they were insulting Frost, another successful patient of his… but the fact that they were already accusing the doctor of failure. The guards couldn’t see the blazing stare he was giving them from beneath his glasses.

He turned sharply on his heel and crunched his way across the dirt and gravel driveway to the driver’s side of the car. Jonny’s window was down and he had just finished fastening his seat belt when Jerome leaned in and tore the keys out of the ignition. Jonny blinked in confusion but listened intently as the doctor wielded the keys in his his hand like a dagger, sun-glasses stripped off, blue eyes practically black and flashing.

“You can either try to play it straight: meet with your parole officer, go to the trial, give those names, toe the line, and live a mediocre good life… or you find some new fuckers to follow around like a loyal dog. Because that is what you are, Jonny Frost.”

Jonny’s eyes widened. This wasn’t exactly the pep talk he had received a few days ago in Jerome’s office…

“But you cannot… will not… return to this goddamn place.” He brought his face closer to his patient’s. “Because I’ll be damned if I have wasted my time with you only to have to save your bacon a second time. Savvy?”

At first Jonny was taken aback… but his expression morphed into one of understanding and instinct. He would never return to this hell hole again. Even if it killed him. He gave a firm nod of his head and accepted the keys back from J. He put the keys back in the ignition and peeled out once the doctor had cleared the car.

The ex-inmate glanced back in the rear-view mirror, seeing Doctor Jerome in a parting cloud of dust, with the gray and ominous asylum towering high above him. He looked small, trapped and bound to that place in that moment…

And Jonny was instantly glad to have the freedom to speed away.

Jerome finally turned back to ascend the stone steps into the asylum. The guards murmured greetings to him, but he brushed past them as if they were nothing. As the cool air-condition of the security area hit him, he finally checked his phone. Getting a fourth text in the process.

The messages were all from Dr. Leland. 

_(((I have a personal favor to ask you. Please meet me in the commons area.))) ___

_(((Jerome, you’re not going to want to miss out on an opportunity like this…))) ___

_(((There is a meeting RIGHT NOW…they are deciding who is going to take the recent high-profile patient that arrived today.))) ___

 

_(((It’s Quinzel. Arkham now has Harley Quinn.))) ___

 

Jerome raised a brow at that news and put his phone in his white doctor’s coat. He took a few hurried strides to the gate keeper to show his id badge before being admitted. 


	3. Favor for an Un-Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thought I would establish Dr. Joan Leland in this story as well. She seems to be apart of most of the fanfiction out there. And why not? She's apart of the Mad Love lore!
> 
> I would describe her relationship with Jerome as angry flirting, but with no sexual tension. She sees through to his selfish behavior, but she also sees how well he works with the patients. She admires his results.
> 
> Next chapter will hopefully be up tonight! I know their kinda short, but thinks for sticking with it and for the lovely feedback!

Dr. Joan Leland packed up her case files with a sigh and stood up to leave the commons area. All the other doctors were filing out of the place, murmuring with excitement and jealousy over what had just transpired in the last 15 minutes.

She looked up to see Dr. Jerome stroll in, one hand in his pocket, the other unbuttoning his black suit jacket like some sort of GQ ad. She narrowed her eyes at him, and then continued to shove the last file in her briefcase with more aggression.

“You’re late.” she said.

“It was Frost’s last day.” Jerome retorted.

Leland slightly softened when she heard that. Jonny Frost had been a model patient… and even regretted the terrible things he had done in the past. He was a gentle soul stuck in the body of a killer… and trapped in some rather damning Falcone family ties.

“What was the favor you had to ask?” He asked.

Joan huffed as she took her briefcase in hand, ready to leave. “It’s a tad late now, Dr. Jerome.” He didn’t budge, but kept his mercury gaze on her… or perhaps his eyes were blue? Honestly, it was like they were changing color all the time depending on his mood, but remained piercing until their victims spilled forth their innermost secrets. Joan gave a shrug, giving up. “I wanted you to take Dr. Harleen Quinzel as your patient. I had already talked to Dr. Arkham about it… and he said as long as you were interested, the case was yours.”

Jerome straightened his tie, the only indication that he was honored to be awarded this prestige. Though it wasn’t much of an honor. Arkham practically dumped whatever cases he thought would intrigue Jerome upon the young doctor to keep him vested in the asylum; to keep him from wandering elsewhere with his unique credentials. 

“Then what’s the problem?”

“‘The problem' is that it was not an _official _agreement, Jerome.” Joan retorted. “And practically the entire board showed up to this meeting to decide on who would receive this patient… and you weren’t there to edge your way into their view like you usually do.”__

The other doctor frowned. He didn’t like to be told what he couldn’t have. Not by anyone. “So who’s the lucky winner of the chicken dinner?” His eyes were humorless.

“Dr. Crane.”

“Oh my god… _seriously _?” His head hung down when she nodded and he rubbed his clean-shaven face with a his hand, incredulously. “That little penis wrinkle-”__

“Dr. Jerome!” Joan reprimanded him.

“-Is not qualified to take someone like Harley Quinn on. You know it.”

“Of course I know.” She sighed exasperated, but then side-eyed Jerome. “But others could say the same about _you _.”__

“Nonesense.” Jerome scoffed dryly. “I’m a delight.”

“Not that it matters now, anyways.” Joan looked down at her ebony hands, clutching her briefcase tight. “You get results, and that’s why I wanted you for Harleen. She’s… she _was _… my close friend at one time. At Belle Reve.”__

“I’ve heard stories about that place.”

Joan’s dark eyes met Jerome’s evenly. “They’re all true.” Her tone then shifted to one of exhaustion. “Including everything about Dr. Quinzel.” She purposely avoided using the patient’s famous moniker; refusing to believe that Harleen was completely gone. “She was a brilliant psychologist who just… lost it. Perhaps being around the worst this planet has to offer tarnished her good intentions, made her curious to ‘the other side’ until she became apart of it.”

“Her victims were patients. Before the accident with Batgirl.” the other doctor supplied.

“Yes. The accident at ACE Chemicals.” She rubbed her eyes. This information was becoming tedious to her. The facts of the circumstances were public knowledge; the psyche behind them were a little more murky. “Didn’t you work at that plant, at some point?”

“Yes. Briefly. To help me get through college.” he retorted shortly.

“Yet another coincidental circumstance that we can’t take advantage of. Aside from the whole… you know… clown thing.”

Joan knew she was treading deep waters with that flippant comment. Ned Jerome never discussed his sealed past with another Arkham doctor; only his own personal therapist…who he never talked about either.

“Why do you think she chose the harlequin to base her appearance off of?” She pressed, against her better judgement as a therapist. “Maybe the same reason you chose a clown-”

“Why don’t you treat Harley Quinn _yourself _?” Jerome narrowed his eyes at her.__

Joan’s right hand absent-mindedly traveled to the base of her neck, which was clad in a black turtleneck. “You know very well why.” she answered, voice low.

“Oh that’s right. You tried before.” he retorted.

Joan tried to end this route of conversation. “I get it. The past is the past.”

“But she tried to slit your throat. With you’re own lamented I.D.” he finished. “Love the turtle neck look on you, by the way…”

“God, Ned, you don’t have to be such an asshole!” Leland snapped, pushing past him.

“I’ll do it.” he said, coldness gone.

Joan slowed down, shooting him a glance. “You’ll do _what _?”__

“I’ll take on Harley Quinn.” he answered, strolling towards the other doctor. “Since you asked so nicely.”

“But… you can’t?” Joan was confused. “Crane is meeting her this very afternoon-”

Dr. Jerome looked down at his watch. “Then we don’t have much time. I assume you are granted access to her cell at least, as the senior doctor taking point on this endeavor, correct?”

“Yes, but-”

“It’ll take the dweeb at least 45 minutes to fill out the right authorization forms, and collect his things before he trudges off to the counseling room… so we have plenty of time.”

“Time for what?” Dr. Leland asked, completely lost.

Dr. Jerome gently rolled his neck, as if prepping for a brawl.

“A proper introduction.” he replied.


	4. Harley and Joanie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SURVIVED HURRICANE MATTHEW. It just barely missed my county; I still have power and food and water to last out the mess that is the outside world right now.
> 
> But there were many who where not as fortunate. Please...PLEASE, if you are able, see what you can do to help provide relief to families in Haiti and the coastal communities in this time of need.
> 
> Short one... with everything considered. Next will have the fateful introduction between Dr. J and Harley. This one is to give you a feel for what I'm doing with Harley. Hopefully it's not too different from the Harley we all know and love. But I clearly see her as a villain, so if you are looking for a victim Harley, this fic is not for you.

Jerome made a quick stop in his office before meeting up with Leland again. He was feeling… _lucid _. Maybe a little _too _lucid. He had noticed the feeling in the early afternoon, during his conversation with Frost. Slightly too uncharacteristic and forward for the doctor’s usual calm demeanor, though it got his point across.____

____But just in case it was… something else…the doctor took his various medications 30 minutes ahead of schedule. One little blue pill, two little whites, big ass yellow one, and a pink one just to defuse the negative effects of the blue. He took them all at once, with a large gulp from his water bottle. He would have to discuss the returning feeling with his therapist at his appointment later that day._ _ _ _

____He quickly met up with Leland, and when Dr. Jerome finally stepped out of the elevator to the lower levels, his usually apathetic eyes widened like a child in a toy store. He had never been cleared access to the solitary confinement unit before, now realizing it was 3 stories below Arkham’s topsoil front …reserved for slightly “less” high-risk patients._ _ _ _

____He picked up the pace and walked to the ledge of the level they were on, ignoring Leland’s adamant warning, to glance down at the sparse cells lit up by blinding fluorescent lights. Their insides were white and padded, aside from the glass front for security and staff to peer through, and the only other furnishings within were a toilet and mattress. As opposed to the usual orange jumpsuits from upstairs, these inmates were clad in navy issued prison uniforms, with the word “ARKHAM” in large font down the left leg vertically._ _ _ _

____‘Trendy.’ Jerome thought, wondering if the pants were comfortable. Maybe he could request a pair for sleepwear or-_ _ _ _

___Multiple gun barrels were suddenly jabbing into the doctor’s sides and one to the base of his neck. His hands slowly rose in a gesture of surrender… but his eyes rolled back at the contact. And gold wavered over his vision and time seemed to slow…_ _ _

____Five of them. Palms down to push down the four at your sides; let them fire and hold. You will only have a split second before the one at your fucking neck goes off: duck down, yank one out of their grasp, spin and club their goddamn jaws off in one sweep. It’s will be hilarious…those surprised little shit heads- ____ _ _

_____He shook his head to clear the thought away, getting that lucid feeling again, but his fingers itched to carry out the commands…_ _ _ _ _

_____“I said put your weapons down!”_ _ _ _ _

_____Leland’s yelling brought Jerome back. His pupils were dilated, breathing increased and head swimming with hyperness. But as he felt the guns hesitantly leave his person, he licked his lips and smoothed back his hair brown hair._ _ _ _ _

_____“Dr. Jerome is assisting me in overseeing the accommodations being made for Dr. Harleen Quinzel.” She explained, annoyed at the trigger-happy guards._ _ _ _ _

_____“Sorry Leland. You’re boy here rushed a mite too fast for our comfort.” said the head guard, his bushy ginger mustache moving more then his lips did._ _ _ _ _

_____It was Leland’s turn to look somewhat embarrassed. “He… he’s new to this level. It won’t happen again.” She turned sharply on her heel and curtly nodded at Jerome to follow her._ _ _ _ _

_____Once they were far enough and out of earshot, Jerome let out humored huff: “I love it here. Everybody is so _intense _.” He was starting to feel a little bit more like himself again, though he would not forgot to mention that little episode in his therapist session later.___ _ _ _ _

_______“Quit acting like a novice, Doctor.” Leland muttered. “That’s not going to fly with Dr. Quinzel…” Joan glanced over, taking his sudden, uncharacteristic silence for him being shaken-up. “Are you okay?” She finally asked, while they walked._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Jerome tore his gaze away from all the tiny prisoners below that held him captivated with interest. He looked back at boring Joan. “Hmmm?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______“The guards back there. I’m sorry about that.” Joan looked ahead. “Their instincts are to _kill _first. Ask questions later. It’s one thing to _treat _killers… but working along side of one can be… concerning… at times.”_____ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________The corner of Jerome’s mouth turned up into a slight grin._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________“I couldn’t agree more.” He finally said. “You _should _be concerned.” Perhaps those days for him were over… the law had made an honest man of him… but the irony was still a nice punchline. Too bad Joan was unaware of the joke… or perhaps she chose to ignore it.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________Though he had gone through great lengths to keep it something that only he, his doctor, and Gotham P.D., to some extent, were privy to…Jerome wondered how much the Arkham staff actually knew about the nature of his past._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________He mused over that until they reached a lower level in which the inmates were close enough that you could see the whites of their eyes. The walkways that they had taken were inclosed and solid, save for tinted windows that Jerome and Leland looked out of._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________“She can’t see us.” Leland offered, though that fact was fairly obvious; it was probably to make _herself _feel more comfortable with the proximity rather then him. Jerome looked through the viewing window to see Harley Quinn’s white cell just a few short yards away, beyond their glass barrier. He cocked his head as he gazed at her.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________She certainly didn’t have the carriage of a reluctant prisoner; her back was to her mattress, her shapely legs up straight and resting against the wall next to it, her slippers off and toes dancing across the padded texture as she gazed up at the lights._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________He couldn’t hear anything from this distance, but he imagined, by the way she bopped her head and shoulders against the mattress, that she was singing… or humming… something to herself. Happily. Jerome’s mouth quirked into a reserved grin._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________“Well?” Joan turned to the other doctor, placing her hand on the door that would give them access to area with the holding cells. “Are you ready to-”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________“Go in there and say hello.” Dr. Jerome commanded._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________Leland blinked at his forwardness. “Excuse me?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________“I need to see her interact with another person before I present myself.” He explained, as if it were the most natural request. His eyes never left the blonde in the white cell. “To ensure her vested interest in me with the right…tactics.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________Leland gave him a long hard stare before shaking her head and going through the door herself. Jerome deemed it admirable that the doctor’s desire to help her old colleague far outweighed the reluctance that she had in engaging with Harley; a colleague who had tried to kill her not so long ago. Admirable… but that meant nothing to Jerome._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________He wanted results. Not good intentions._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________As soon as the heavy door closed behind Leland, Harley’s head cocked, as if listening to something in the distance, but she continued dancing against the walls and staring at the ceiling. Jerome looked down at the console in front of him and pressed a button that gave him the audio to Harley’s cell, Cell 452-16._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________“MMMBop, ba duba dop ba do bop, ba duba dop ba do bop, ba duba dop ba do, yeeeeeeeeah!” Harley’s vice rang out in a very obnoxious manner, singing the old inane Hanson song, ‘Mmmbop’. Jerome’s grin deepened. He crossed his arms in amusement and rested his chin in his hand, watching the scene about to play out._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________Leland had to scan her I.D. and go through a few more security measures with armed guards before proceeding to the cell’s reinforced glass wall. Harley stopped her incessant off-key singing and scooted herself closer to the edge of the bed so she could let her head hang down  
the side. Gazing at Leland upside down, a dazzling smile spread across the criminal’s face._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________Jerome leaned forward, taking every detail of Harley’s exposed face in. Of course he had seen the file, the newspapers, internet articles, and news… the woman’s beautiful face was everywhere… even when she wasn’t causing destructive chaos in Gotham. Her notoriety with the Gotham Sirens had made sure of that._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________But there was something more mesmerizing about her in person. Her skin was an unnaturally fair hue …almost white even, her makeup was almost completely smeared away, and her lips were free of their usual glamorous crimson stain. Her eyes were baby-blue, sheltered by long lashes, and framed by dark, shapely brows; such a contrast to her nearly platinum blonde hair. Her hair, adorned in two low damp pigtails, looked like their tips been dipped in red and navy ink… leaving behind a pink hue on one pigtail and blue on the other._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________Harley squealed and kicked her legs in the air as Leland approached her cell. “Joanie!!!!” She did an expert tumble roll off of the mattress and skipped over to the glass wall, waving profusely._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________The unseen doctor made another mental note about his patient; she had already personalized her prison uniform by folding and tying the tails of her shirt into a tight knot under her breasts, leaving her toned mid-drift happily exposed and her pert breasts pushed up. She was a sexual being in appearance and movement, despite the child-like playfulness. Perhaps she would respond to that back. Jerome removed his tie, his crystal eyes never Harley’s face, and unbuttoned his top few buttons, keeping it closed over the skull harlequin. The cards were a lost cause; they would be seen no matter what. He hoped that variable wouldn’t distract her too much from being intrigued by him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________“Hello, Dr. Quinzel.” ‘Joanie’ replied back to the convict. Harley stuck out her tongue with distaste over the formality. “It’s been awhile… Harleen.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________“I’m loving the new fashion sense!” Quinn blurted; she adorned that disarming smile, but her motivations were clear as water to Jerome. Leland’s hand went to her neck, over the scar that her turtle-neck hid. “It’s very Carol Burnett, circa 1970… but that hair…yuck.” She shook her head, disapproving, but not explaining. Leland stroked her long-bob hair, not sure of what to make of the comment._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________A comment made to make the opponent self-conscious about themselves. It seemed harmless enough in the momment… but it would worm it’s way in, making the soil uneven for when another, larger blow would come along and tear up the foundation of a person’s being. Jerome took note and awaited that moment._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________“I’m here to make sure that you are comfortable, Harleen.” Like a pro, Leland diverted control of the conversation back into her hands. “Your comfort during this transitional period is of the utmost importance to me.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________“Aw! Gee thanks, Doc!” Harley leaned against the glass. “You know everything is super great… I love my suite,” She motioned to her sparse room. “…But I am just dyin of boredom in here, yah know?” Leland seemed to bristol, knowing where this was headed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________“Harleen-”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________“You gonna come in here and play with me again, Joanie? Com’on…I’m boooored. SO BOOOOORED!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________“You _literally _just arrived 2 hours ago.” Leland retorted. “And 1 hour was spent prepping you for incarceration-”___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“You know who was good at playing?” Harley finally said. Leland tensed, hand over her scar._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“We’re not doing this today, Harleen…”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“Arnold. Your Arnie. How is Arnie doing? Did you two ever get married?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Leland looked away, trying to compose herself. Jerome leaned forward, intrigued by the direction of this conversation… and at Harley’s tactics to disarm the doctor. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Leland to stay strong and control of the situation… or to root for Harley and her powers of manipulation._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Joan remained silent. “Yeah, sorry about the whole dumb… thing. I had an itch, you know how it goes… I just had’ta scratch it and Arnie wanted to help.” Leland refused to meet Harley’s eyes. The prisoner then took on an air of concern. “But don’t worry! I punished him for yah. I’m a good friend, Joanie.” Harley nodded to herself…and then started giggling uncontrollably._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________To Leland it was unsettling, but Jerome found that he actually enjoyed her bell-like giggles._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“Besides… guys only need one testicle anyways!” Harley was guffawing now._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“Yowza.” Jerome muttered under his breath, shifting at the gruesome thought…but his sincere grin remained._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“He nearly bled to death!” Leland spat back at the prisoner, losing it. Jerome winced. Why did Joan have to ruin the fun? Who was acting like a novice now?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________“Are yah gonna make me pay for it, Joanie?” Harley continued. She pressed herself up against the glass, as if she could morph through it if she wanted; no one was safe. Especially not Dr. Joan Leland. “Are yah gonna… _punish _me?” Her earlier question, had been asked sincerely… as if she were truly asking if the doctor in charge was going to let grudges of the past get in the way of the future. The next was a challenge, said with a hitched breath and sultry blue eyes, as she licked her lips. Jerome would have been lying if he didn’t admit to being slightly aroused to Harley Quinn and her antics.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________She was just so…_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________________Good… ____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________Leland knew it too. So she turned away without another word and stalked back to the area's exit, Harley laughing gently in the background._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________________“Geez! _Some _people just can’t take a joke!” She hollered at Joan before turning back towards her mattress. She started dancing to a sensuous tune that only she could hear.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	5. Mistah J

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part II!
> 
> There is a reason why Mistah J is being preferred over Doctah J, from a narrative standpoint, but I'll throw in DJ eventually. Because it's cute. Harley sings, horribly, but she sings. It's just her peppy nature. So look up the songs if you are unsure about what they sound like. They are mostly songs with repetitive bridges.
> 
> The kinds that get stuck in your head.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Leland came through the door, wishing it would slam shut behind her, to show her agitation with Harley and Jerome… but the pressurized mechanism in it made it come to a slow, wheezy close. When the door’s automatic lock finally clicked into place, Joan shot Jerome a glance.

“Did that suffice, Doctor?” 

Jerome fluffed his white coat and slicked his hair back with both hands. “It was beautiful-”

“Oh go to hell.” Leland muttered, sitting down at the controls. “And don’t you dare breath a word of.. of what she said. About my ex.”

Dr. Jerome chuckled, nodding and heading for the door. Leland glared at him through misty eyes.

“I’ve already notified the guards to admit you into the cell arena.” she explained, taking out a kleenex. Was she crying? How drawl… “You are to be quick, since she is to be transferred to psychiatrics for her meeting with Dr. Crane in-” Leland checked her watch: “… 11 minutes.”

11 minutes didn’t seem like much time… but Jerome had been able to work wonders with women in under 5. He wasn’t worried. But he gave his supervisor one more understanding nod before heading through the door to meet with the first barrage of security check points.

Upon the last, a hearty pat-down and removal of his white coat, he gazed through the small window that peered into the cell arena, right in front of 452-16. Harley Quinn was not aware of doctor about to visit… or she didn’t care. He looked away briefly, to adorn his coat back on, and he glanced back up through the little window…

…Only to see Harley’s blue eyes fixed in his direction. She knew something was happening, too much commotion behind the tinted door, but she didn’t stop dancing; swaying her hips and bringing her hands up around her neck and hair as if the air was far to hot.

Dr. Jerome finally stepped through the entrance to the arena, his steps light against the grated flooring. He put both hands in his pant pockets, drawing back the excess of his doctor’s white coat, exposing the lean build of his hips… and how good it looked in suit pants and a leather belt. The action did not go unnoticed by the patient-to-be. 

Harley halted in her dancing, but held her graceful, yet alluring, position. “Well helloooooooooooo Doctor!” She cat-called. 

Jerome kept a neutral face. ‘Heterosexual persuasion…’ he thought to himself, but then he thought about the inmate’s interaction with Joan. ‘Or possibly bi.’ Harley cartwheeled in his direction and stuck the landing in a crouched position right at the glass edge of her prison. 

‘Extreme show-off…’ he added.

Harley slowly rose to her feet from her crouching position, supporting herself against the glass; her breasts pushing up against it as her back arched, her lower lip catching against it’s dry surface as she finally reached full height. Which was head shorter than the doctor.

The display was something to behold. He had to force his eyes to stay on hers. That impressed her.

“My, what big…eyes… you have.” She finally said, raking hers up his body until they rested on his crystal-like eyes. They were so clear and pretty… she wanted to pluck them out and admire them up close and in person. Maybe add them to her marble collection.

“‘The better to see you with, my dear.’” His voice was smooth and delectable …like pudding! Harley’s eyes widened at him…and then she let out a strand of giggles, as if they had just shared the best joke in the world. It wasn’t forced; it sounded sincere and full of merriment.

“You read children’s books?” she asked, excited.

“Only the classics.” he replied.

“Oh, ‘Little Red’ is my favorite! Especially when the wolf swallows her whole…and the hunter has to THWAK THWAK! Save her with an axe!”

Bemused by her motions and gestures, he cocked his head at her. “Do you see yourself as Red?” He asked. “You seemed to infer that I’m your big bad wolf.”

“Ain’tcha?” Harley said lowly, sultry expression on her face.

The doctor thought about it for a moment. “I suppose there is a bit of wolf in everyone.” He met her eyes levelly. “In some, more then others.”

She liked that response. It gave her respect as a deviant, but insinuated that there was a deviant in all; it brought them both to the same level. But more then that… there was something in those mesmerizing eyes that held complete understanding. Not the bullshit understanding that all psychiatrists claimed to have; real, experienced, understanding.

“Well, to answer your question… I’d like to think of myself as being all three. Playful, self-damaging, and yet my own savior… all in one.”

“Well, that is very meta of you…”  
Harley put her elbow up against the glass and leaned her head against the crook of that supporting arm, gazing at this handsome new face. “I have a feel’n I’m gonna be like’n you, Mistah.”

Jerome allowed her a grin.

“So… you my doctor?” Harley asked, brimming with excitement at the prospect; oh the fun that the two of them could have! Here in the arena or there in the counseling room; in him or in her! She giggled as he matched her stance, leaning against the glass from the outside. 

“Do you want me to be?” He finally said.

“Oh you can be my daddy if you wanna, puddin.” Her free hand supported on her hip slid down to caress her supple lower curves, giving a nice hearty slap to her cheek. She gave playful moan, biting her tongue and pressing herself harder against the glass.

‘And hello Daddy Issues…’ Jerome added to his ever growing list. She was sexually attracted to him, so that worked in his favor. She already had a nickname for him at this point, so she was forming some kind of attachment, as shallow as it was at this point. But now she was practically begging him to assume the Freudian father-figure/male role model in her life that she needed to impress. 

This woman was brash and reckless with her feelings… like a child.

Jerome couldn’t have been happier to find that out.

He gave a sigh and pushed off from the glass, keeping contact with it with his index finger. He drew imaginary pictures upon it’s surface.

“How… boring.” He said. 

Harley blinked, unsure of why he was suddenly responding this way. “Uh…what now?”

“I had hoped… well… it’s nothing.” He walked along the edge, dragging his finger along the surface of the glass as he moved.

Harley wavered in her sexual confidence, trying to physically keep up with his traveling finger. “Hey… what’s this all the sudden? Did I say somethin wrong??” Her tone was not mock-worry as it had been with Leland, who was a lesser opponent. “What gives, Mistah?”

He stopped traveling and moved his finger in circular patterns against the glass. “I had hoped that you were more then just sex-crazed, with some real material to work with… but I see I was overestimating how it is that your criminal mind works. Poison Ivy or Cat Woman must be the real brains of the Sirens…”

“Heeeeey…” Harley squeaked, offended. Even if it might be true. But he didn’t know that!

“I suppose I will just have to content myself with the mundane musings of the cannibal, Killer Croc. At least he has some nice recipes to share…”

“Killer Croc??? OVER THIS???” She gestured to her alluring body. “That’s just SICK, Mistah. You gotta real problem!”

He turned to face her. “I have no time for shallow flirtations, not with the rigorously thorough therapy I have to offer.” Did he hear her gulp? “Yes, I’m sure you’ll enjoy Dr. Crane very well…”

“Crane? Who’s Crane?” Harley asked, exasperated.

“He’s going to be your doctor, if I’m not.” He walked back the direction he had travelled before. She trailed beside him. “Sure he’s not much to look at, is inexperienced when it comes to female patients, and his method of therapy could be compared to that of an awkward virgin unable to wield his member properly… but I’m sure that he’ll easily fall prey to your…” Jerome chanced a glance down to her pert chest before slowly meeting her eyes again. “…charms.”

Harley’s brows were furrowed; contemplating this information. Not liking it one bit.

“Sorry, Miss Harley Quinn,” Jerome said, backing away. “…but you’re just too predictable.” He turned away to leave.

That was the first time she had heard her name on his lips. Everyone else called her by her birth name; the name of the woman who died at Ace Chemicals and who could never come back. Hearing him say it… it felt like… a hug. She didn’t want to lose that, if she had to be stuck in this place until the girls managed to bust her out.

She didn’t want to be bored.

Harley took a strong stance and struck her palms against the glass with force, producing a light THWACK that Jerome picked up on. He turned to face her. 

“I got secrets that nobody…nobody… knows.” She said, her tone dark; it drew Jerome back towards her cell. “I got secrets that can make grown men quake and children cry… because I play front and center in them, daddyo! I’m sure G.P.D. would love to hear some…” She tilted her face up towards his, because he had come back to her. She grinned, her hands sliding up the glass, splayed out for him. “Do you want me now?”

Jerome’s hands slowly placed themselves atop of hers from the other side, mirroring her once more. He stared at their hands, so close yet 7 solid inches apart. His eyes met hers, and he felt a shudder go done his back. He licked his lips, eliciting a low hum from her.

He suddenly took his hands away, as if the glass was hot.

“We’ll see…” He admitted, trying to appear calm and collected… instead of as out of breath as he felt. The victory was giving him a high… but it was more then that. The prospect of this woman… this particular woman… meeting with him once a week thrilled him, for some reason. It was the most excitement that he had ever felt in a long time, despite his mediations’ job to neutralize such excitement.

He felt so… alive.

He began to walk away, but he turned one last time before reaching the exit. “The name is Dr. Jerome, by the way.” She would need that if the plan were to succeed. “You never asked.”

“Didn’t need to.” Harley retorted, stretching that nubile body of hers. “You’re puddin; you’re daddy; you’re Mistah…J! And that’s just a-o-k with me!” She giggled to herself and went back to her mattress to do some tricky yoga poses on the unsteady surface.

When Jerome came back through the door, Leland was waiting, her arms crossed, staring out the viewing window. He stood before her, awaiting her verdict.

“Well?” He finally asked. “What do you think?”

Leland finally looked at him. “I think you got her hooked.” He must have misunderstood her answer because he looked rather pleased with himself. She stopped him with her tone. “Ned… tread cautiously with this one. She has a gift for corrupting those with even pure intentions-”

“Joan, that is the last thing you need to worry about.” He said matter-of-factly. “Now let’s make like a tree and leave before that scarecrow Crane get’s down here.” He walked out the door to to make his way to the elevator, leaving Leland behind.

She didn’t move from her spot as she contemplated all that had transpired. The man had delivered; he got results. And Harley Quinn bartering away criminal secrets was a huge leap in the right direction.

But at what cost? Why wasn’t this whole thing sitting well with her? 

Dr. Joan Leland turned back towards the control console and turned on the audio to cell 452-16. Harley was back on her bed, holding a pillow in the air, singing to the tune of ‘Mr. Lee’…but instead of ‘Mr. Lee,’ she had replaced the name with ‘Mr. J’ at the bridge.

“Mistah J, Mistah J; Mmm! Mistah J! Mistah J, Mistah J; Ooh! Mistah J…”


	6. Short-Lived Debut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really don't know a lot about mental institutions, so I'm doing my best with the little amount of time that I have to work on chapters. Imagine these segments as the Animated Version logic... which don't make the strongest amount of sense, but you go with it anyway to see what happens to the characters!
> 
> Sorry you had to wait so long. I hope you enjoy Harley's debut at Arkham. Doctor J surely is.

Both seasoned doctors and interns alike were buzzing around the large two-way-mirrored window to the large therapy room. This room, unlike numerous others on the same floor, was outfitted for the most dangerous of patients, taking on the appearance of a sterile principle’s office and modern dungeon all wrapped up in one. Jerome was used to the room, though he thought it over-kill for Quinn’s first meeting with her psychiatrist.

In fact everything was off about the proceedings, but Dr. Crane was never one to think things through with tact. If it were any other patient, they would be allotted a few days of acclamation to the asylum before meeting with their doctor for the first time. But the twerp was in such a hurry to lay claims to this alluring prize that he was steamrolling through protocol… and no one was providing any resistance.

Crane justified that her time with the G.P.D. before her Arkham transfer was more than enough downtime and that immediate study… er… counseling…would be in the patient’s best interest. Jerome shook his head as he watched Crane in the room, laying out papers, files, pencils, glasses case, and coffee in such an OCD manner; like he was preparing for his first day of school.

“Four-eyed bastard…” Jerome breathed, oddly craving a cigarette. He took out a stick of gum instead, sliding the stick between his lips before folding up the paper to return to his pocket. He hadn’t touched a pack of cigarettes since…

…Not in a very long time. 

Jerome’s eyes met Joan’s and he gave a nod. Her lips were pursed, with an un-readable expression, but she finally returned the nod and made her way to the window, the witnessing sea of white coats parting for her to take her place.

The light above the door turned green and there was a heinous, electronic “ding” as Harley Quinn was rolled through the entrance. The tinted windows concealing the staff prevented her from actually seeing through, but she turned her pigtailed head from side to side, guessing there would be onlookers. She smiled through her muzzle, tilting her head and wafting with her restrained hands as if she were the queen of England receiving loyal subjects. 

Jerome could even hear a faint “weeeeeee” as she was being pushing in her wheelchair. He stifled a grin. Even in a place that she was feared and hated, a place where they hoped to expel everything that made her predatory and unique… she never faltered in her act.

If it even was an act. Jerome hadn’t decided yet. Only his diagnosis would tell.

When she reached the therapy chamber, her two muscly chaperones halted to transfer her heavily restrained person into the chair that had been set up for her. Once she was unchained from the chair, she comically teetered on her dainty feet, as if the chains over her front were too much to handle, but she complied and sat in the therapy chair with a labored breath.

Crane sat up straight in his chair. He attempted to take on a commanding air: “She won’t need the muzzle from over there… and remove those chains. We’re not barbarians.” He attempted coolly, though his voice cracked.

The attendants were apprehensive, but the patient had not put up a fight during the transfer or on her way down to therapy, so they obeyed. Harley shook her head once her mouth gained freedom.

“You just can’t talk in those things!” she exclaimed, watching as her guards secured her wrists and ankles to the metal chair.

“I would think not, Doctor Quinzel.” Crane shifted in his seat, looking too over-anxious for her attention. “Does that feel better? We want to be accommodating to our infamous guest…”

Harley’s attention finally turned towards this lanky pimple of a man before her. Her brow arched as she sized him up.  
“Nope.” She finally said. The guards had finally finished securing her.

“Nope?” Crane repeated. “And what are we-”

Harley pointed her index fingers up and down at Crane. “To all of… this. Just nope.”

Dr. Crane gave a huff, adjusting his glasses. Some of the doctors behind the glass window murmured at Quinn’s immediate rejection. The smirk on Jerome’s face was deep.

“Doctor Quinzel, you’ve hardly even given me a chance to-” Crane began.

“Let me guess: you’re not a regular doctor, you’re a cool doctor… blah blah blah, yah wanna help me…blah blah blah…a lifetime original movie later I’m cured, right?” Harley rolled her eyes, tipping playfully back in her metal chair. An attendant forcefully righted the chair.

‘She’s stalling; testing her surroundings.’ Jerome thought, watching the scene closely.

“Well let me tell you, Doctor Lame, I ain’t that easy to crack open.” She turned her nose up at him. “And it ain’t gonna be by you.”

“Why don’t we just start over, Dr. Quinzel. I’m sure we’ll get along fam-”

“We we we we! There isn’t a ‘we’, pal.” She attempted to cross her legs before remembering that she couldn’t. “I refuse to have treatment, of any kind, administered by you, Dr. Crane.”

Crane’s expression froze in an incredulous smirk, until he realized what she meant. “Now Dr.-”

“That’s right, asshole,” Harley continued. “I’m aware of my rights: and according to The Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act, that’s HIPAA for short, I can refuse treatment from any one of you boneheads and yah have to respect my wishes as a patient! Ain’t that some’thin?” She sat back in her chair. Flexing her wrists with a smirk.

“So, according to HIPAA, you are content to sit in your cell without any treatment, interaction, or hope for parole?” Crane sputtered, angrily collecting his effects and shoving them in his briefcase. Such a complete and utter waste of his valuable time.

“Gee… I guess that means that I’ll never go to court neither!” Harley touted. “I’m sure the Commish will loooooooove that!” She giggled.

Crane frowned. She had him by the balls. She had Arkham Asylum by the balls…technically. Though Arkham didn’t always play by the rules when it came to deviants such as Harley Quinn. But the patient rode out her brief victory.

“Unless!” she exclaimed, index fingers punctuating her excitement with erectness. “Unless, unless, UNLESS… I get a new doctor. And I got just the one in mind…”

Jerome slicked back his hair. He could have done without all the theatrics, but she was getting the job done.

Crane put his case down on the metal table, long fingers digging into his chair. “And who would that be?”

Harley inhaled to respond, but her eyes fluttered open. Her index fingers curled. “Uhh….um….”

Jerome blinked, crossing his arms. Oh no.

“You know… uh… daddy… er… Mistah J!…Um…”

Jerome pinched the bridge of his nose. Oh this dumb bitch.

Dr. Crane shook his head, letting out an irritated sigh. “Believe me, Dr. Quinzel, when I say that there is no one here at this institution with the name ‘Daddy’ or ‘Mister Jay.’” He walked by her, giving her one last dirty glance. “So you will sit in your padded cell until Gotham Justice decides that it is tired of it’s tax payers paying for your well-being.” He nodded to the attendants, who never had the chance to leave the room, to transfer her back to her chair.

He made his way to the door before turning back. “And one last thing; refusing to exercise your right to treatment might not prolong your stay here as long as you think. It very well may hasten your path to where most of Gotham would like to see you pay for your crimes.” Crane exited through the only door to the room.

“Hey! I know my rights, Damnit!” Harley screamed at the top of her lungs. One attendant worked on her ankles while the other got out the muzzle. “Mistah J: dreamy eyes, long legs, nice tush, great jaw- that guy! You know? Hey! You even…. LISTENING?” She crossed her free leg over her middle to plant a firm kick to the crotch to muzzle guy. He fell to his knees, making it easier for her to heel his forehead. She then turned to the other and bit his ear off as he struggled to get up after freeing her ankle.

Dr. Leland had already pushed an alarm to notify the guards, but Harley hummed as she used her toes to lift the keys from the unconscious muzzle guy and freed her wrists before reinforcements could reach the door.

Everything was chaos, noise, and flashing red, but Jerome looked on with profound enthrallment; the other white coats hastened to vacate the area.

Harley grunted as she pushed the metal table against the door, and then folded the wheelchair, wedging it between the table’s surface and the door knob. It wasn’t a permanent fix, but it would give her enough time to think.

She saw one-ear-guy stirring in the corner, so she took a running start, ran up his front, and delivered a roadhouse kick to his head to knock him out. Or maybe it killed him, she wasn’t sure and didn’t care. She cart-wheeled away from him before going up to the main glass mirrored window.

Harley cupped her hands and trying to peek through. “Mistah J? Mistah J??? Yoo-hoo?” She wasn’t having very much luck seeing through the glass. “I’m sorry I forgot your boring name… Mistah J?”

Jerome shook his head, but he couldn’t help but admire the chaos she had inflicted. Almost like it had been planned. But it couldn’t have been. She was merely a master of improvisation. Dr. Jerome liked that.

He tapped the glass at the level of the patient’s button nose before jogging out of the viewing hall and to the jimmied door of the therapy room. The armed guard merely tried to push him away.

“I can help.” He insisted. “If she sees me-”

“We’re not taking any chances, Doctor.” the gruff captain retorted. “Cutters! And gas her up!” No sooner had the order been given, the chamber was flooded with a red gas. Jerome watched as the patient panicked, running in circles to escape the toxin, until it choked her to her knees before having her pass out.

They used steel cutters, that melted the hinges and security mechanism right off the door before someone finally turned off the monotonous alarm blaring. The lights still flashed, signifying that the asylum was still on high alert until the patient was returned to her cell. Guards flooded into the therapy room, gas masks and shields up. 

Much to the chagrin of the captain, Dr. Jerome pushed his way in as well. He was given gruff warnings about the gas and his safety, but he paid it no mind. He knew how to handle toxins. He took shallow breaths and moved quickly, though the knock-out gas had done it’s work and dispersed for the most part.

Jerome had a syringe ready, just in cause, as he approached the form on the floor. He motioned for the guards to hold up; and did it with such command that some of them actually did lower their weapons, slowing down. He knelt down by Harley and gently turned her over with a hand. Her face looked peacefully serene…

Too peaceful. 

He barely had time to jab the syringe into her before she had his pocket pen in her hand, holding it to his jugular. He tightened his jaw, though a small grin spread on his strained face. Her red bleary eyes glanced up at him before tired realization dawned on her pale face. 

“Mistah J…mmmmm…” Her arms snaked around his neck and forced his lips down hard against hers. He was not ready for that; it had been out of his control. He struggled to detach his face from hers, her tongue bringing with it the familiar iron taste of someone else’s blood. He finally pried her loose as her embrace became boneless. He let her drop to the floor as his injection took effect.

She just giggled, glancing up at him under sleepy eyelids, blowing a bubble with his stolen gum, before completely passing out.


	7. The Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Docter J's got some issues that he needs to address. I hope you enjoy and sorry for the delay in postings!

After the uproar in the therapy division, Dr. Jerome managed to slip away after Harley Quinn’s body was carried back to her cell. Her arms and legs swung like a rag doll’s, but she had a curious little smile across her lips that didn’t falter.

She was indeed an intriguing specimen.

Jerome had almost clocked out completely when he received the call to report to Dr. Arkham’s office. He let out a low growl of annoyance as he cracked his neck. He really didn’t care to hear the old geezer’s ramblings on employee conduct, receive a slap to the wrist, only to have the doctor side with him in the end anyways. It was as if the old man was desperately out to prove his power over the asylum named after himself, but fell flat on his wrinkly face time and again when trying to enforce said power.

But since the young doctor had missed the morning meeting, he calculated it would be in his best interest to humor Arkham’s antics nonetheless.

Crane was there was well. Leland too, though she sat silent in the corner, only volunteering her support of Dr. Jerome in the most professional manner possible.

“Bullshit!” Crane yipped. Jerome gave a low whistle, amused that the lanky scarecrow of a man had it in him to bite back. “The whole exchange was underhanded and unprofessional, Dr. Arkham.” He glared at his colleague in green shades. “I spoke with head of security; Dr. Jerome was permitted access to the patient after she was assigned to me! So this… this… boob… could win her over with his face and questionable antics! This is no way to run a respectable institution-”

Dr. Leland put her hand up to stop Crane’s tirade. “Dr. Crane, I think you forget that you are in the presence of our founder. Dr. Arkham will be spoken to with the utmost respect. And you,” she looked sharply at Jerome in his sunglasses. “-take those off.” Her command was met with a sigh, but compliance. She turned to Dr. Arkham, a man who had been in his prime in the 1940’s, now frail and uncontrolled with his bobbing silver head. 

Arkham licked his lips a few times, head warbling upon his thin neck, tapping a crooked index finger to his thin mouth with contemplation. 

He finally opened his mustached lips. “Thish remindsh me of a time-”

Jerome kept an attentive grin on his face, but he had to keep his eyes from rolling to the back of his skull as his gaze travelled up at the ceiling. He could not stand through another one of the old windbag’s stories that didn’t relate to the current circumstance. Fuck, when would this man die? He’d been through enough strokes already…

The chastised doctor instead fixed his sight on a peeling corner of the ceiling. Under the uprooted flakes was a bubbled texture of plaster; it’s foundation warped by moisture and mold. Jerome cocked his head as the mold appeared to fester, moving in an out as if it was exposed flesh taking in a quaking breath. In and out..

Gold shimmered along the edges of his vision as his eyes fluttered. His trigger finger curled slowly, but firmly.

“…And thatsh when I knew that carp had gotten the besht of me! Never again, I told my wife. Never again.” Arkham finished with a bemused chuckle.

Jerome’s attention snapped back to Arkham. “What a charming and witty anecdote.” he smiled widely. “Be sure to save that one for the company Christmas party, sir.”

Arkham looked pleased with himself and the praise he had earned. Leland shook her head. But Crane, who had sat down during Arkham’s rabbit trail, looked back between Arkham and Jerome incredulously. Crane cleared his throat.

“I uh… I enjoyed the story as well, Dr. Arkham.” He gave an uncertain, but toothy, grin.

Arkham’s face fell stern. 

“No one liksh a kish ash, Crane.” He muttered, making his way back to his mahogany desk. He gave a grunt as he sat down with some effort and then placed his elbows up on the smooth surface. He rubbed his knotted hands together, looking between Crane and Jerome, before pointing a finger at the latter. 

“Harley Quinn ish Ned’s patient.” He said with finality. “And thatsh all I will shay… on the matter.” He extended his shaking hand towards his door, exhausted by the encounter. Though his stories were irritatingly long-winded, when he felt he was done with a discussion, the dismissal was always curt. One of the man’s few virtues.

Leland stood up, satisfied with the outcome and Jerome put his shades back on, delivering a wide grin. He didn’t feel the need to say any thanks or farewell since it was usually met with a grunt and wave of the hand. As he turned to leave, his eyes locked with Crane’s. As if Crane didn’t look ridiculous enough already with his un-styled downy hair, large glasses, and laughably atrocious taste in ties… he looked even more absurd with a flushed face and furrowed brows. Jerome gave his fellow employee a little wave of the fingers before leaving.

Leland stepped outside of the office, seeing Jerome make his way down the corridor towards the exit.

“Dr. Jerome.” she called, catching his attention. He slowed to a halt, but only slightly turned his head to acknowledge her. “Remember what I said. Downstairs in Solitary.” He raised an eyebrow in response. “She’ll get in your head.” She reminded him.

“Not unless I get in her’s first.” he responded swiftly and darkly. But then he felt the phantom tingle of Harley’s bloodied kiss upon his lips and he let out a chuckle before continuing on his way. He had an appointment to keep, with such an exciting day to reflect upon.

Dr. Crane watched as the two doctors parted, but his dark gaze lingered upon Ned Jerome. One hand adjusted his over-sized glasses; a nervous tick of his. The other snapped a pencil he usually kept in his right coat pocket.

 

***

 

“Comfortable?”

Jerome shifted on the leathery couch. It was never was comfortable. What a stupid question. Then again, he never liked staying in one place for very long; always feeling the need for constant movement. And it was always so dim. He preferred darkness to blazing light, but something about being in this state during this time away made him feel… uncomfortably lax. 

Vulnerable.

The doctor was smoking again. It made Jerome’s nose itch with remembrance and want. He could say something about it… should say something about it. But it was just… so fucking good to his senses. A forbidden familiarity akin to homemade cookies that you know you shouldn’t touch. It was such a tease, but welcomed.

“I think I need a higher dosage.” Jerome said curtly, not answering the original question.

“Of what?”

“Everything. All of it.” He was met with disapproving silence. “I’m having… thoughts.”

“Don’t we all?”

Jerome narrowed his blue eyes at the dark ceiling above him. “You’re very bad at this.”

Another drag on a cigarette. “Thoughts about…him?”

The doctor on couch the didn’t move.

“About… her?”

That seemed to merit an uncomfortable shift from Jerome. “When will we stop discussing them?” he retorted.

“When you stop being such a pussy about it.”

Jerome took in a breath, steeling himself, but it was noticeably shaky. He continued, in order to get off of the track they were headed down. “I thought I saw the ceiling breathe, in Dr. Arkham’s office… I wanted to shoot it. Is that normal?”

“Christ, you are the most boring person on this fucking planet…” Even Jerome agreed with that diagnosis. “Tell me about the girl.”

“The girl?”

“The new girl on the block. She seems to have… peaked your interest.”

Jerome thought about Harley Quinn and her antics. He grinned to himself, but then it faded. He blinked slowly and his stormy eye fixated on the ceiling once more. “She’s a patient. Of course I’m interested. I haven’t spent much time with her, but she already displays multiple symptoms of-”

“Blah.. blah, blah… blah, blah…” came a drawl retort. “You can’t lie to me…tell me what we both want to know: what do you want to do with her?”

Jerome’s eyes faltered in their concentration on the ceiling. A strange, tightening sensation splayed out within his belly. It was not unpleasant, but it lacked control. “What….what do you mean?”

“Don’t play coy.” The doctor scooted to the front of their chair, leaning in. “What do you want to do with her?”

The knot was starting to effect his head as well. Jerome sat up, the couch providing a leathery flatulence as he moved to the edge, struggling with his thin tie. He looked up, vision doubling, face clammy. 

“Gee, doc. You don’t look so swell…”

“Bathroom.” Jerome managed.

“You know where it is.” the doctor responded gruffly, taking a sip from a glass tumbler.

Jerome stood up, composing himself as best he could. “Up the dosages. On everything.”

The silhouette stared up at at him. “Both of us know you’re going to do whatever the fuck you want.” Jerome gave a nod and turned on his heel. “For now…”

Jerome paused, but then continued, ears roaring. Panic attack? Possibly. This doctor was a shit practitioner, but at least he let his patient call the shots. Jerome preferred to keep it that way.

He splashed ice cold water against his flushed face and leaned against the cool sink for a moment.

“Pussy.” He could hear through the door.

Jerome seized the mirrored cabinet above the sink and ripped it open. Everything he needed was there. He would just increase the amount to pills until he could falsify higher dosages of the the medications he needed. After dispensing the colorful pills into his hand, he dumped it all into his mouth, filled the Batman cup on the sink’s surface, and washed the bitter load down.

That’s when he stopped to look down at the cup in his hand. He had bought it from a street vender as an inside joke: the one man keeping the doctor in business. 

But what was it doing here?

Jerome, free of the symptoms his body had previously been experiencing, turned around to examine his surroundings. That was his toilet…and his shower curtain…

This was his bathroom, dammit.

He swiftly exited the sterile and confining space to re-enter the room he had just left. He was staring at his own sparsely yet stylishly decorated apartment; black and metal furniture set against white carpet and walls. Jerome, still clutching the bathroom cup in his had, walked through the darkened apartment to the large bay window overlooking Gothem’s smoggy red skies and neon building lights. 

It was night, already. And Jerome had no idea how he had ended up back at his place after his appointment. Another time lapse; not the first… but they weren’t frequent. He backed up from the window, bumping into a coffee table. He turned to acknowledge it, with it’s collection of trophy Joker cards incased beneath glass. Each had a different story, plucked from different decks, but their memories were all soundless static to Jerome. He instead fixated on the tumbler resting on the glass surface…

Untouched whiskey. It’s flagrant aroma made Jerome’s nostrils flare. Where had it come from? With everything he had introduced into his system, alcohol was a definite no-no; he avoided the stuff like the plague. But here it was before him as if it was something he kept in stock at all times.

Jerome stared at the glass, and then absent-mindedly placed a coaster beneath the chilled crystal. He finally dispensed the Batman cup in his spotless kitchen sink and grabbed his coat. 

He was in need of some fresh air.


	8. Two Sirens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know that these are coming out slower and slower. Thank you for your patience! I had fun coming up with the contrast of the three sirens. I can't wait until their reunited again!

Arkham Asylum was indeed an old building, preserved as a landmark by Gotham’s Historic Society. Despite it’s dark history, the vintage structure was quite breathtaking… if one could forget the ugliness that it kept barricaded behind it’s high concrete walls.

Walls that were in desperate need of rebuilding, as vines climbed over them in masses, thru weak points, compromising the concrete’s structural integrity. But the funds from generous donors, such as the billionaire Bruce Wayne, would be lavished upon internal security features. Specifically those in the lower zones beneath ground level, leaving the surface of the grand estate perfectly preserved, as per the request of the GHS.

Perfectly… vulnerable. 

A thin coil of lime green vine snaked it’s way through the rest of the darker variety, easily penetrating it’s way through those infamous walls, slithering across the dead grass of the expansive terrain as it blindly followed soothing orders to seek out the asylum.

A guard dog started barking at the subtle movements. The vine dove beneath the side walk, leaving the officer completely stumped by his canine’s behavior. He was on his walkie in a flash, just in case, but after a sweep of the grounds and nothing was found amiss, things resumed to normal. 

By then the vine had infiltrated the estate. It tested how far down it could explore, but struggled against titanium sides that seemed to never end. Returning to the weathered structure on top, the vine split, driving it’s thin tentacles all around the massive building, sprouting little tiny bulbs in hallways, bathrooms, and break areas. They patiently awaited, avoiding being trampled on or discovered by the numerous inhabitants in white coats…

Until the name was spoken. The bulbs quivered and opened soaking in as much of the conversations as it’s tiny being could, and then closed, exhausted, before sinking back from where it had sprouted. The vines eventually pulled out, retracting past the estate, the famous black iron gate, and down the road many, many miles…

Until they reached their mother, coiling up in the planter pot of warm dirt in her graceful arms. Her eyes were maternal, looking down at the vine, but her green eyes flashed at the road that lead to that insipid hellhole she was only too familiar with.

She secured the clay pot in a pack mounted on a motorcycle that didn’t belong to her. It’s red and black painted diamonds a stark contrast against her pale green legs. She tucked her fiery red hair beneath the helmet, not wanting to draw any attention to herself this evening… especially not from the Batman and his young apprentices. 

The bike revved and took off towards the heart of Gotham.

 

***

 

Selina Kyle looked at her computer screen in adoration. She had a dark navy silk bathrobe on that showed off her toned thighs, her Catwoman heeled boots were still on her legs, a glass of red wine was in one hand, and her clawed glove was on the other. 

She liked the “click, clack” noises that the claws made against the keyboard. A black cat sat nearby, ears in tune with the noise as well.

“Aw… now this one is cute…” Selina said, enlarging a picture of a fluffy orange kitten tangled in a ball of yarn. “I just wanna ‘boop’ that little pink nose.” She took another sip of her wine, looking at the black cat… which gave her a bored glance and then began licking his coat clean.

She gave a chuckle and carefully scratched the feline’s neck with the glove, when the back door opened. The black cat hissed and rushed under the bed. Selina sat up, setting the wine down and placing her hand on her whip on the desk next to her.

“You’re cat shit on my ficus again.” Ivy came in, taking off the helmet and shedding her coat.

Selina grinned. “Fertilizer. Why are you complaining, Captain Planet?” She eased back into her seat, picking up her wine again.

“Because I’ve the perfect regiment for all of my babies, and I don’t need your stupid cat giving any input on the matter!” Ivy slammed around in the kitchen for a bit, making hot tea for herself.

“You mean ‘output’.” Selina grinned. 

Ivy poked her head into the small bedroom. “Please stop.”

Catwoman put her hands up. “I’m sorry. Harley’s not here to deliver the bad jokes. Thought I’d lighten the mood.”

“Don’t.” Ivy retorted. “This is no laughing matter. Harley is in that… that cesspool of human garbage, where they’re doing who knows what to her…so just… stop.”

Selina surrendered, taking a sip of her wine. Of course her friend was taking Harley’s capture hard. The two had been exclusive at one time. Harley had treated it like it was a phase but Ivy was still not over her feelings. All Selina could do was roll her eyes at all the drama. But there was a side of her, deep down, that really felt for Ivy’s pain.

“You haven’t been in there, Selina. Not like I have…” Ivy continued.

Selina got up, putting her wine glass down. She put her hands on her friend’s shoulders. “You know I’m not as good at this girly heart-to-heart stuff as Harley is…so…let’s just say that we’re going to find her and everything will be alright… sweetie.” She gave Ivy’s an awkward pat.

“You’re right.” Ivy nodded. “You’re not as good.” she said matter-of-factly before turning away. She went to the kitchen to retrieve the clay pot she had hauled in.

Selina had to just huff it off. Ivy was humorless and calculating… but her rage burned hot. Harley was the heart and maniacal laughter of the group…and then there was Selina. She always felt like the outsider of the trio… not just because of Ivy and Harley’s history as friends, lovers, and then exes… but because she had a calmness about her that the other two lacked. She could see the oversights in the plans, didn’t get off on killing at random. She didn’t have a problem with killing, as long as it was needed. Not to mention that her run-ins with Batman, the dark symbol of goodness and justice, didn’t always end in bruises…

Well… not combat bruises.

“I see you’ve been hard at work.” Ivy said, looking at the computer screen. 

Selina snapped back to attention. “Hmm? Oh that. Just waiting for you.” She took her seat at the desk, exited out of Google, and brought up the identification software that she had hijacked from the Gotham City Police Department. “Do you have a name?”

“Working on it.” Ivy replied. The slender vine in the pot rose its many buds to the ear of its creator. They would quiver as they relayed their secrets, and then wilted to death. Ivy mourned over each one for it’s service and short life span.

‘This could take awhile.’ Selina thought to herself, somewhat fascinated by what she was seeing. Her green friend was truly a force to be reckoned with. “That’s so…weird.”

Ivy glared over at Selina. “You talk to your cats all the time.”

“Yeah, but they don’t talk back. That would be crazy…” Her cat had ventured out, wide eyes fixed on the plant in the pot, but staying close to Selina. “Find anything useful?”

“It’s a lot of conversations to get through, but luckily our Harley Quinn was the topic of most of them. Re-assigned to a Doctor….Ned…Jerome.”

Selina turned to her computer and ran the name.

“I don’t like what I’m hearing about this guy…”

“What, a real sadist?” Selina kept typing some coding in to bypass security protocols on the software.

“No…” Ivy chewed the inside of her lip. The tiny petals whispered conversation from the ladies rooms…how handsome but aloof Dr. Jerome was. As it got particularly descriptive, she took the wilted flower from her ear; she knew how susceptible Harley was to attractive people. It’s why their relationship didn’t last long. Ivy had hoped for an old paunch doctor that Harley would find insanely boring.

But the word was out; Harley had already tried to escape. She asked for him personally. And then she kissed him.

“Then what’s wrong?” Selina asked.

“Nothing.” Ivy retorted. “We can handle him.” 

If he hadn’t been handled by Harley already! Ivy put the pot down, giving a scowl. She collected the seeds from the wilted flowers; which Harley had affectionately named “speak-to-me-nots”. The name was ridiculous and Ivy hated it, but it stuck.

“Okay here we go….oh…well hello doctor…” Selina purred at the screen.

Ivy came over and peered over her shoulder for a few moments. “He’s the same as all the other meat-sacks on this planet.” She grumbled.

“Whatever you say.” Selina did a few more searches. “He’s a brilliant young doctor… and chemist, apparently. He stumbled upon some pretty impressive acidic formulas during a few years at A.C.E. Chemicals-”

“That poison factory??? I hate him already.”

“-He was in college at that time. Earned his Ph.D. early too. He’s young, handsome, brilliant…and it sounds like he could really help our Harley Quinn…” Selina gave a yawn.

“She’s fine just the way she is!” Ivy spat. “There’s gotta be something else. Something we can use to blackmail or threaten him with!”

Selina’s crimson lips spread into a wide grin. “Now you’re talking. Let’s go back in time, shall we?” Her eyes turned back to the screen and she began typing.


	9. The Night Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well it was bound to happen. Every Joker story needs the presence of Batman, even when the focus isn't on their relationship as rivals. It will be interesting to develop it, but I can tell you it's not off to a great start between these two.

Jerome worked his way downtown by foot; a dangerous feat in a city like Gotham. The wet pavement beneath his shoes was finally dried to a dampness that didn’t splash with his stride, but wet pebble against concrete created a scrapping rhythm that the doctor found hypnotic. He wasn’t easily chilled, but he fished out a purple leather glove from each pocket to fit in with the rest of the bundled street urchins.

He got a few shouts, bums chiding him for being so stingy for not stooping to give them money…for their numerous apparent addictions. One cat-call from a rather impressive looking transvestite prostitute, and a hat tip from the man buzzing around her.

‘Cop.’ Jerome thought to himself, keeping his hands in his pockets and his face buried in the popped collar of his jacket. His mercury eyes scanned the hatted man from eye to shoes. ‘Definite Cop.’ He kept walking as the man continued to bait the prostitute…

It was a sketchy neighborhood to be sure, but it had once been an elite part of the grim metropolis. Jerome had snagged his apartment at a decent rate, and after a spit and shine…it wasn’t too shabby…though he had to run the occasional drug addict away from his hallway. Mostly to protect his own self-prescribed stash. He had no qualms about that.

It was even fun, really. To really fuck with someone who’s brain was already tripping balls from narcotics. 

The doctor came to a halt, turning his head to pick up on the sounds behind him. Or rather the lack of sounds. The noise of a putrid city coming to a deafening halt under heavily stealthy steps. The hair rose on the back of his neck as he cracked it, grinning.

Jerome suddenly dashed down a dark alley. He knew that the remaining duo of the Gotham Sirens would probably be after him, seeing as he was involved with Harley Quinn’s incarcerated routine from now on. He had even been looking forward to the meeting, but it would be on his terms; in his control. He could hear a puddle splash as the pursuer followed. Sounded light, like the delicate, sure-footing of a female.

He didn’t look behind himself to check. The doctor increased his speed in order to run a few leaping steps up the wall and the launched himself at the fire escape steps parallel to that brick wall. The muscle memory was there, but his healthy weight was foreign to this extreme activity. He let out a growl of annoyance as he realized this, but continued to skip steps up the black stairs to the roof. Hearing the distant popping sound of a cable being launched from a distance, he scrambled across the roof to the ledge. He looked over the edges to make sure that an acrobatic Catwoman couldn’t leap over from or to the next building. Wasn’t so sure what he would do about the plant lady, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

He took out a flip knife from his jacket pocket and expertly opened and twirled it in anticipation as he faced the firescape ledge. Damn, that blade felt good in his hand; like an old friend coming home. A female figure finally leaped to the roof, landing in a crouch.

“Put the knife down, Doctor.” she warned.

Though she had pointed ears… the cape gave her away as being a fraud. Jerome eased his grasp upon his knife. The female Bat? But what was she doing here-

Before he could process and deduce in his expert way, he received a kick square in between the shoulders to knock him down; not hard enough to endanger his spine, but the weight and speed of the boot coming down on him made it a powerful blow. He fell forward with the force, face down into the cement of the roof’s surface. When he regained his breath, he let out a laugh.

“Pleasure to meet you, Batman.” Jerome said pleasantly, not caring that he was meeting the Caped Crusader ass-up. He finally shifted to prop himself up on an elbow to glance back at his assailer; the figure was imposingly tall, stern, and practically blended into the night sky. If it wasn’t for the fact that the man was dressed like a flying rodent, perhaps the doctor would have taken the situation much more seriously. He looked over to the other Bat and gave her a salute of acknowledgment.d

“And Bat… woman?” he assumed.

There seemed to be a brief pause before she answered, between clenched teeth. “Batgirl.”

“Oh…” Jerome shifted to a sitting position on the cement, his knife a few feet away. He pocketed away that little bit of Bat tension he was picking up on between the pair to possibly use later. “Well, to what do I owe the pleasure of meeting Gothem’s Dark Knight and partner?”

“Harleen Quinzel.” retorted Batman, with a distorted voice modulator. The voice came out deep, gravelly, and opposing. Jerome thought it was hilarious. Don’t bats actually squeak? Nothing imposing about a squeaky interrogation…

“Ah yes, Harley Quinn.” the doctor corrected through a grin. He stood up and dusted himself off. “To be honest, I thought I was going to be roughed up by another, infinitely more attractive, costumed pair on this very subject… but I’ll play. What do you want to know?”

Batgirl uncrossed her arms. “Wait, just like that? What about patient-doctor confidentiality?” she seemed disgusted with his lack of morality.

“I believe criminals lose the right to such privileged privacy the moment they commit a crime, wouldn’t you agree, Bat… girl.”

The female vigilante closed her mouth, thinking about that sentiment, wrestling with it. She looked away, and then back at those large sultry eyes, trying to figure him out.

“We came to warn you.” she finally said. Apparently she was taking the lead on this exchange, so Jerome reluctantly pulled his eyes away from the mountainous Batman and focused on her. “She will manipulate you at every opportunity. She has a childish way about her tactics, but remember that she is an expert psychologist just like you…”

Jerome let out a sigh. “Please tell me you didn’t come all the way to knock me on my face to tell me something I have already read in a file…”

“She’ll have even more power over you.” Batman finally said. “Similar past interests.”

The doctor eye-balled the stern vigilante. “You peeked at my sealed records.”

“Criminals lose such privileged privacy the moment they commit a crime.” Batman reminded him.

‘Oh, he’s fun…’ Jerome thought.

“We’re concerned, that this patient might be too much for you to handle.” Batgirl cut in, unhappy with the amount of chatter between the two men that left her out. “It’s for your safety, Dr. Jerome… as well as the safety of your fellow co-workers.”

This was becoming boring rather fast, to Jerome’s disappointment. “Well thank you for the concern, but there is a reason that my patients have the highest rate of successfully assimilating back into society as functional, law-abiding citizens. And my colorful history is key. I will remain in full control of her at all times.”

“You can’t control Harley Quinn.” Batgirl said, her voice low and serious.

“We’ll be watching you, ‘Dr.’ Jerome.” Batman said from behind the doctor. Jerome clenched his teeth and whirled around to face that pesky rodent-dressed being, but he was gone from sight. He turned back to Batgirl, who was retrieving her cable gun.

“If you are truly concerned about my safety,” He said as he took a step towards her, “…Give me something I can actually use.”

Batgirl glanced over Jerome’s shoulder; Batman was out of sight. She bit her lower lip. “She has a daughter. Lucy. Gave her up, reluctantly.” Batgirl looked away, slightly ashamed of what she had just divulged… but she trusted something about Jerome’s eyes; they were so calm, sure, calculating… and something else she couldn’t put her finger on. But it was the same with Bruce’s eyes. And she would trust Bruce, the Batman, with her life.

When the information had registered, a pleasing grin spread across Dr. Jerome’s face. “Thank you, Batwoman.”

Batgirl tried to remain stoic, but she was blushing beneath her mask. She fired her cable gun out into the night blackness, and swung away. Dr. Jerome watched until her lithe figure had disappeared.

He didn’t like being told what he shouldn’t or couldn’t have. Doing so only made the object to be acquired more and more like an aphrodisiac to him; to obsess over. That’s why the dispute with Crane had been a nice little change from routine at Arkham. Winning Harley to his schedule had been a little victorious high.

But this was different. Harley’s notoriety had gained the active monitoring of Gotham’s dark vigilantes; what kind of woman could do that? To such an extent that they would seek out her own doctor to warn him? Jerome wanted to crack her open and delve into that madness that made her such a hot commodity to the Batfamily. He was practically giddy with the prospect now. 

Because it was no longer about just having her; it was about breaking her.

 

The thought of it elevated his heart and dilated his eyes, rousing him in a way that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. With a sick grin he collected his knife and made his way down the firescape.


	10. Grape Soda and Trixie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of COURSE i have to include grape soda! And also, the return of Trixie!

The bar that Jerome frequented often, Ace of Spades, was buzzing with activity this evening. It was located right in the middle of where “nice” downtown Gothem met sketchy, so there were a lot of upper-middle class customers mixed in with the drunks and addicts tonight.

The bartender saw Ned and draped his hand towel over his own shoulder. “What will it be today, Doc?”

“The usual.” Jerome answered.

The bartender shook his head and pulled out a chilled class and used the fountain drink hose to pour in grape soda. “One of these day’s I’m gonna see you get a real drink.” He slid the heavy glass to his customer. 

Jerome didn’t mind the slight. He usually came to this place for the ambiance anyways; watching unsuspecting people as they congregated, interacted, suffered the stupidity the embrace of drunkenness offered, and enacted more scandalous deeds in the darker spaces of the establishment. Sometimes he imagined owning a fancy club, much classier than this joint… just so he could watch and assess people.

And sometimes he imagined doing darker things to those people. Usually the simplicity of a grape soda sip would kill those thoughts… but tonight his mind was vigorously frothy with ideas. His new patient and recent acquaintanceship with The Bats was having such an effect on him…

Thinking about it all was driving him wild. Too wild not to act upon it. It was as if after a long overcast he could finally glimpse a sliver of sunlight, and he was greedy for more of that warmth. He knew exactly what could take the edge off of this anxiousness…but it was something he had given up in his youth.

Not an option. The second best thing would have to do.

Jerome could only think of one person he would love to reign down the full prowess of his mind and body tonight. But she was under impossible security in Arkham’s isolation unit for her stunt earlier in the day. He looked around the room for a woman, but not just any woman: she had to have the right hair, the right build. The face he could ignore, but the body had to be close, to keep the illusion going…

Recognizing Trixie from the clinic he had visited for the removal of his tattoos, he sauntered over, silently appraising her proportions and blonde hair as another guy artlessly hit on her. Jerome scoffed at how ardently she was eating up the attention from that loser. 

Jerome tapped on Loser’s shoulder. “Excuse me, pal, but I was told that your car is being towed.”

“What… what???” the man sobered a bit out of his slurred state. “By who? Who told you that?”

“The bartender over there. You can ask him yourself, but they’re taking it as we speak-” 

The man hurried out as fast as he could. Jerome took his acquired seat and leaned up against the bar, giving Trixie a sly grin. 

“Hi.” he finally said, to get the blonde’s attention.

Trixie watched the Loser vanish out the door with concern, not hearing everything about the car situation, but when she turned back to his replacement, she smiled back.

“Hey…I know you, don’t I, handsome?” She giggled, but then her blonde brows furrowed in intense concentration. “Jah… Jared? Jack?…Jah…. Oh you know, with the cute tattoos…”

Jerome was starting to remember why he didn’t like the presence of this woman: her voice was grating and her brain was so trite. “Doctor Jerome.” he supplied.

“Oh that’s right! Handsome and a doctor! Yum!” She crossed her toned legs towards him, brushing her heeled foot against his shin. She wasn’t going to take much convincing. “So Doctor, you gonna diagnose me?” 

Jerome arched a brow. She was tactless, but the whole purpose of this game was to sleep with her, not admire her for her prowess. “Oh? Are we having some undesirable symptoms?”

Trixie batted her eyes, but then got a concerned look. “Well… actually my back has been hurting me something awful, Doctor. Do you give good massages? Oh I could really use one right now..” She looked up into his eyes, pouting her lips.

Yuck. He rubbed his eyes in frustration. “I’m not that kind of doctor.”

“Oh? Well what kind are you?”

Jerome downed the last of his grape soda, surprising a growl. “I’m a psychiatrist…”

“So…like… head stuff?” she asked, sipping her drink.

“Yeah. Like head stuff.” Jerome looked away, losing interest. Scoping the place for other potentials. It had been a long time since he had endeavored into this territory. Over time, these stupid games had lost all appeal for him. It took far too much effort to pretend he cared about another person when he just wanted mindless intercourse.

He then tried to recall when he had last had sex. He looked down at his carbonated beverage for the answer.

“Really? Oh wow, my friends are always telling me to see a doctor for my issues. Not that I have a lot of issues, but every since my dad left when I was 6-” 

Trixie placed her hand on his thigh as she leaned in. That made Jerome’s head turn back towards her. The foreign touch sent a twinge through his groin and soft fireworks in his brain. 

Yes, this was exactly what he wanted. He closed his eyes for a moment, drowning out the incessant chatter with his own heart beat. Jerome’s mind wandered to a pale face with dark brows, crimson lips in a sly grin as she was pinned to the tiled floor. Blowing a bubble with stolen gum… her tattooed arm gliding up his inner thigh…

‘Mistah J…’

He opened his gray eyes slowly, coming back to himself at the bar. Trixie was still going on, just about to reach the point in her life when her pet dog was run over by her mom’s car, when Jerome put a finger to her lips. He closed the gap between their two bodies. Trixie had to slide her hand to his hip just to steady herself.

“You know what I’d prescribe?” he asked her softly, his eyes lazily gazing into hers.

“Wh- what?” she responded, discovering it hard to find her voice with his nearness and intensity.

Jerome grinned and leaned in to whisper into her ear. “A nice, long…fucking.” He punctuated that last part by softly mouthing her neck, and then nipping at it. Her body jolted at the sharp contact, but she didn’t pull away.

At last the long-winded Trixie was speechless. 

“I can get us a cab.” He offered. When she nodded her head, he laid down money for their drinks and gently took hold of her arm to steer them out of the bar.

The taxi ride was a bit of a blur; Trixie was trying to loosen his tie so her lips could gain more access to his neck, while her other hand rested on the slight bulge in his pants. Jerome stayed reclined against the back seat, letting her have way with him for now. His eyes were dark and focused on the bit of road he could glimpse from between the driver and passenger seats. 

By the time they reached the elevator of his apartment building, Trixie had unfortunately found her voice again. She hiked her leg around his hips, so he could feel her nimbleness against his groin, whilst giggling. 

“Oh baby… mmmmm… you feel so good right now. Oh my god, I can’t believe I’m doing a doctor. My sister will be so jealous! Do you make a lot of money? This building is old but, like, classy. You know?”

The elevator couldn’t reach his floor fast enough. He was starting to loose hardness the longer she kept talking…

 

***

 

Batgirl put down her binoculars with a huff, blushing bright red. From the way that the doctor and his… friend… were acting as they exited the taxi, it was clear that the night was taking a more intimate turn. She looked up at Batman who had that same stern face as when he met the doctor in person, arms crossed.

“So the guy wants to get laid. Are we judging his sexual behavior now, too?”

Batman didn’t answer.

Barbara sighed. “Bruce, what are we doing? Why are we still tailing this guy?”

“Look at the woman…”

“Yeah, I’ve been looking at her sucking face with the good doctor since Ace of Spades…”

“Does she remind you of anyone?”

She thought about it. “Okay… there may be a passing resemblance, but geez, Bruce. Maybe the guy just likes blondes.”

“There are no coincidences.”

“Bruce-” she received a glare. “…Batman, Harley Quinn was just assigned to him. Today. For him to have formed that kind of obsession in such a short time… that’s… that’s…”

“Insane?”

Barbara gave up. “I’ll keep an eye on him. I mean… not right now. But I will, if that will make you feel better.”

Batman didn’t give any expression. He turned and made his way to the ledge of the roof. Batgirl shook her head, glancing back over at the building that the couple had disappeared into.

“Don’t give him anything that he could use to control her. He shouldn’t be given that sort of power. Not until we know if we can trust him or not. Do you understand?”

Batgirl was silent for a moment. “Yes. I understand.” Her mentor was gone before she finally let out a breath.

 

***

 

“Oh wow! You’re place is so….clean!” Trixie admired, dropping her coat on the floor. She continued walking while Jerome swooped to pick it up, draping it over a chair. He was starting to get a headache. “So how much is rent? No wait let me guess! It’s probably really high- oh cool coffee table! Are those cards? Did you find that on Pinterest? I just love Pinterest. There was this origami crab that I tried making, but it just didn’t-”

“Shut up.”

Trixie was spun around with such force that she squeaked. She found herself pinned between Jerome and the kitchen island. “Doctor Jerome-” She didn’t know if she was thrilled or frightened.

The doctor slammed his mouth against hers, pulling roughly at her orange top and yanking at her yellow hair. Trixie decided that she liked where this was going and gave a timid, but pleasured moan, while sliding off his heavy coat and undoing the buttons of his dress shirt. Jerome coaxed more sounds from her as his gloved hands worked their way down her unzipped jeans; one leather grasp cupping at a bare buttock, and the other rubbing at the apex between her legs through her white cotton underwear.

He gave a growl as he surrendered his teasing hold on her, only to lift her up onto the kitchen island for better access. His shirt and coat were sliding down his toned arms when he heard Trixie gasp. 

The heat of her embrace immediately abandoned him, leaving him cold and frustrated. When Jerome regained focus, he looked up into her wide, alarmed eyes. Her lips were tightly pressed together, and her arms crossed over her bosom in a posture of adamant rejection.

“What… what is it?” Jerome demanded, trying to control his breathing despite the rage he was feeling inside. He was finally reaching that plain of existence that promised a rampancy that was more freeing than any drug…but now the reality and dullness of control and consequence were creeping back.

“I…I just…I mean, I don’t mean to complain…but…” Trixie's gaze was glued to his chest. He followed her gaze down to the faded skull with hollowed eyes, fanged grin…the twisted smiles. Apparently she didn’t find those as ‘cute’ as the ones on his neck and fingers. 

“So we’ll turn the lights off.” He gruffly assured her. Stupid, flighty girl.

“It’s not just…that…” she insisted, closing herself off to him even more, though her legs were still trapped around his lean torso. She began shaking. “What… what were you going to do..w-with that?”

Jerome looked down with annoyance, only to freeze. His right hand, though he did not know when or how it happened, was now clutching his switch blade. The knife he had put in his pocket to defend himself with in case of an encounter with Catwoman or Poison Ivy. It’s blade ready, and grasped tight in his purple leather grip.

And somewhat aimed at Trixie. Though that was more coincidence rather than intent. Perhaps.

Still, the question was how did it get there. It was more disconcerting that he hadn’t noticed, rather than because it might actually hurt someone.

Without wasting another beat, he closed the weapon with the expert flick of his wrist and placed it on the island. He backed up away from Trixie so she would feel less vulnerable. “My apologies,” Jerome said, with a well-practiced sheepish grin. “I take it with me whenever I go out into the city, though the blade is slightly temperamental.” He turned more lights on, adjusting his clothing. “I was just trying to remove it from my pocket to avoid any accidents…”

“Oh…oh.” Trixie, though still rattled, let out a breath that relaxed her shoulders. “I mean, that makes sense. Of course!” She accepted a water bottle that he offered to her from the fridge. “No offense, but I just met you and I don’t know you that well so when I saw the knife I just thought ‘OH SHIT, MOM WAS RIGHT,’ you know??” She laughed at herself.

Jerome leaned against the island that she still sat upon, sipping from his own water. He grinned up at her…but the warmth of it didn’t reach his icy gaze. Now that he had seen the sheer look of disgust and fear on her, any appeal she once had for him was lost. They were two completely different species.

A cow holds no sexual appeal to a butcher. Just a living.

“You should probably go.” He finally said, caping his water.

“Oh no… I ruined the mood, didn’t I?” She pouted twirling her hair.

“Implying someone is a psychopath usually does.” he offered half-heartedly. He shed off his gloves and coat, taking them to the closet.

“Um…well then, I guess I’ll call an uber.” She offered, offended, hopping down from her perch. She adjusted her clothing, walking to his bathroom. 

There was nothing much to tidy up in his pristine apartment, but Jerome bustled around, trying to remove all evidence of Trixie, and contain her shit to one corner so she could leave as promptly as possible. But out she pops and informs him that her ride will be there in 20 minutes, so they could ‘talk’ in the meantime.

And so he replied that she should consider waiting in the lobby, instead. And slammed the door in her still chattering face.

What a complete waste of an evening.

Jerome's gaze fell upon that now luke-warm glass of whiskey on his coffee table from before. 

‘Pussy.’ his therapist’s voice cackled in his head.

He stormed over to the glass, seized it, and launched it at a window. The glass container smashed against the window…but the window remained intact. Thanks to the previous owner having replaced all windows in the apartment with bullet-proof glass.

Jerome wanted the mess to remain there. Amber dripping down the window, and a sharp, jagged mess below in the white carpet. Broken and useless for all to see. One thing off about this perfect place…but eventually he retrieved a dustpan and broom. A vacuum finished off the job, and things where back to normal. Or at least the appearance of it.

He eventually made his way to the bathroom to start his bedtime routine. Changing his clothes, taking his pills, washing his face…. and yet while he brushed his perfect teeth, he couldn’t help but thinking about Harley. How would she have reacted, in the midst of sex to see a knife drawn on her. The visage in his mind took on a life of its own, giggling and moaning as the blade caressed her jaw and cheek…she’d kiss it… lick it…and draw blood from her own tongue just to get a reaction…

And she’d get one. Jerome let the pleasant shiver run down his spine. He bent over the sink to spit and then gazed back at his reflection. 

When did that sincere, toothy grin appear upon his face?


	11. A Friend Like Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I... got nothing. Just some more Doctor J and Harley goodness.

Harley tried flexing her neck and halted the movement as soon as she was met with a sharp soreness. She gave a frustrated sigh and blew the hair out of her face. Her straightjacket restricted all upper torso movement and it’s stiff collar was giving her such a crick in the neck.

“My neck hurts.” She finally said, blinking her blue eyes at the lights above her cell. She guessed it was night time, but she really couldn't confirm that, being as the brilliant light overhead never dimmed and she was who knows how many levels underground. She tore her gaze away from the lights and brought her head up to look out the glass wall of her cell.

No activity at the metal door outside of her cell. How boring. She could use a distraction about now…

She rolled off her cot and staggered up to the glass to rest her forehead against its coolness. Her head was still swimming after that gas chamber. She liked playing the scene over and over in her head; her pinned against the floor, choking on someone’s blood, bewteen Mistah J’s strong thighs, struggling for air…and his surprised look when she gave him a smacker right on the kiss-a-roo…

He didn’t give much back in way of the contact, but Harley could make her own fun. She needed to unwind that tightly geared clock. The thought of it made her giddy. She slowly spun against the glass, traveling up and down it’s length for a long time, until dizziness overcame her and she fell to the padded floor. She was falling down a rabbit hole, dark and slick…and it was divine. Almost lulled her to sleep…

When she noticed something under her cot. She wiggled over to it, like an inchworm, and got close to the padded wall under her bed, till her face was practically smushed against it.

She blinked, and then smiled wide. “Ha!”

A tiny little sprout had needled it’s way through the seams of the wall, barely an inch and a half long. Harley couldn’t touch it any other way, so she nuzzled it until it shuddered back in reply. 

“Well, hiya, Red.” A bud of the speak-to-me-not bloomed into existence. Harley got close to it’s delicate little petals. “I got a favor to ask…”

 

 

***

 

How many days passed after that night. Harley estimated at least 3. The mundanity of her confinement was only broken up by bland meals that she had to consume without the use of her hands, and vigorous rounds of some of her favorite inane songs until her throat went hoarse. It all was very funny until it became incredibly boring.

Bags where starting to form under her eyes, food residue around her mouth that was never wiped away, and her long hair that she took so much pride in… was starting to get stringy with grease. And that was unacceptable.

She sat crosslegged in front of her window, waiting for the next patrol of security to check on some doohickeys on the side of her cell. 

“Hey… hey you.” She called, her voice scratchy. “Yah you. Who do I have’tah screw to get some shower privileges around here?”

At first the officer ignored her, focusing on her work. Harley didn’t like being ignored.

“Hey…. HEY BITCH!” She spat at the uniformed woman. The woman backed up, giving Harley an ‘excuse me?’ glare. The prisoner immediately sweetened up. “Excuse me… but I’m in need of some hygienic maintenance. To whom would I appeal to?”

“You bit off a man’s ear and dislocated the jaw of another… and then nearly gutted your own doctor.” The woman shook her head walking away. “They gonna keep you in there and jacketed as long as they can.”

“Hey! They don’t treat people like this upstairs!”

“Well I guess that makes you a special kind of crazy, now don’t it?”

Harley’s face tilted up, but her eyes were still in shadow under the stark light. “I’m not crazy.”

But the woman was already gone. Harley looked up at the cameras, rising to her feet. “I’m NOT crazy…” She was met with silence before she whipped her head back and bashed it into the thick glass, punctuating her words.

“I’M. NOT. CRAZY!” She backed up to look at the blood smear upon the surface before her, and then crumpled to the ground in an unconscious heap.

 

***

 

Jerome was pouring over Harley Quinn’s files for the third and final time. At this point he was just buying his time instead of absorbing any new information. It was Leland’s request that, unlike Crane’s approach, he take his time in getting an official routine set up with the patient. He would have to wait until the beginning of next week at least.

The young doctor disagreed with all this pointless caution, but seeing as how everyone was little on edge over how easily Harley took down the guards in the therapy room…he was persuaded to wait, so that nothing had the appearance of recklessness. In the meantime, he wasn’t even permitted to go down to the third level to observe his patient. Security was uptight about everything now. More so than usual. 

Absolutely no sense of humor.

There was a light knock on his door before Dr. Leland entered. Jerome gave a sigh and pushed the file away, leaning back in his chair, awaiting her excuse for the intrusion. She crossed her arms and leaned against his desk.

“Dr. Quinzel… is in the infirmary.” she finally said. Jerome immediately stood up, frown on his face. He yanked on his white doctor’s coat. Leland put her hand up to halt him. “Stop. This is what she wants, Ned. No one controls her, she controls the situation. If charm and sexuality doesn’t work, she uses violence. If she finds herself in a corner with no one giving her attention: self-harm.”

“You should have told me.” He retorted curtly.

“This is me telling you.” She shrugged. “I’ve seen her do it, so many times-”

Jerome rolled his eyes and pushed past her. “I want access to her holding area. Now and permanently. I want security feed as well. I’m done doing this your way.” Joan grabbed at his arm before he could exit through the door. He sharply yanked out of her grasp, rage prickling at his neck. 

“You have to play her game to get anywhere with someone like her. You can’t keep her locked up with little to no stimulation. It will drive her mad. And that is how you get Incident Reports… not results.”

“There is a way to go about this-” Joan tried to start, but the other doctor had already exited through the door.

He stormed down the hallway and made a sharp turn to reach the stairwell. On the ground floor was the elevator… behind a heavily guarded clearance gate. He scanned his i.d., which was received with an affirming beep and green light as the entrance popped open for him. At least Leland worked fast. Or perhaps it was just easier to give him access rather than to write a report on why one of her associates was trying to access a level he wasn’t authorized for. 

There were multiple infirmaries below, so he guessed that Harley would have been taken to the closest one on level 2. When he reached the doors of the clinic, he smoothed back his hair and fixed the positioning of his emerald-colored tie. The doctor finally entered, to meet the gaze of yet another armed guard. He gave a curt nod and then Jerome did a quick scan around the large room, seeing that there weren’t many patients occupying the numerous beds. They either quietly rocked or mumbled to themselves on their mattresses, paying no mind to the doctor passing by.

He walked over to a closed curtain partition and drew back the stiff fabric. Harley lay upon the bed, a bandage taped to her forehead. Her eyes were closed, that playful smile absent from her unwashed face.

She looked worse than he had ever seen her, in person and on television. Even after a beating from The Bat. But Jerome wasn’t phased. A tiger’s markings do not lose their elegance because of some dirt in the fur.

Jerome leaned in close to her. Her slow breathing was convincing, but her bosom rose and fell with way too much control and force… rather than with the unconscious expanse and deflation of her diaphragm; the telltale of a body in survival mode. He let her continue in her charade for a few moments more, since the view wasn’t completely unbearable, before he called her out on it.

“Faker.” he murmured firmly.

One blue eye opened, looking the doctor up and down, before closing again. Harley shifted nonchalantly in her straightjacket, playfully angling herself away from him, her nose up in the air. “I don’t having anything to say to you, buddy.”

“Have I personally done something to offend you, Miss Quinn?” he asked. 

Harly scoffed. “You’re supposed to be my doctor, giving me… what did you call it… ‘rigorous treatment’…and you’re a total no show! Three whole days! And… and they don’t let me shower, or even eat with a goddamn spork! What the hell kind of place is this?”

Doctor Jerome placed a hand upon her pillow, not touching her. He would not surrender physical contact without her earning it. It was amazing what a simple touch could do to someone starving of it. Large Jonny became a sniffling mess with a simple shoulder pat. Jerome gave her a sympathetic expression.

“I’m deeply sorry about the circumstances. The restraints are for your protection, as well as ours. But this arrangement is only temporary. Until you show enough good behavior to earn our full trust…”

Harley’s brow arched and she gave a smirk. “Faker.”

Jerome abandoned his ‘nice doc’ demeanor. “Absolutely. Complete garbage. No one here is ever going to trust you and you’re going to rot in that jacket as long as you’re seen as a threat. Great first impression, by the way.” He placed his other hand on the mattress, leaning in. “But… having a friend like me might get you certain privileges.”

“Well this is hella professional, doc!” she giggled, amused. “Okay then. I want a pony.”

“…No.”

“Fine. Cappuccino machine.”

“Absolutely not.”

Harley huffed with a whine, letting her head fall back into the pillow. “Then what good are you, daaaaaaddy???”

“Well it has to be something small, baby girl.” He matched her whining tone to mock her. Her eyes twinkled back at him. "How about at our first session, I’ll bring you a treat?”

“Mmmm…what kind?” Her thighs pressed together tight.

“Something hard and sweet… that you can put in your mouth.” Harley giggled that bell-like sound. Jerome couldn’t help but look at her shapely mouth and those perfectly straight teeth. Her smile had a disturbing allure. And something familiar. Jerome looked away, checked to see if anyone outside of the curtain was eavesdropping. “And showers. Daily. It’s a necessity, not a privilege.” He looked back at her. “I don’t like my patients filthy.”

“Oh, I wanna look soooo good for you, Mistah J…” she cooed back to him. And then she took on a more sultry air. “And what do I gotta do for you to ah… ‘earn’… your friendship?” She subtly licked her lips as she locked eyes with his.

Jerome found his gray eyes transfixed with hers. A few beats passed between them, as Harley tried to scooch closer to him in her restrained state. His instinct was to back up, maintain control of the situation, and give her an answer that would leave her wanting a rematch. That was his tactic. It worked. Time and time again. Don’t fix what’s not broken.

But in an instinctive moment, his thumb moved and stroked a strand of oily hair. She didn’t let on that she noticed… except that her lips lost their mirthless abandon and slackened in surprise.

“Don’t hurt yourself. Ever again. Not while I’m your psychiatrist.” He’d sooner see the Mona Lisa light itself aflame.

Harley’s eyes were wide and child like. “…Sure thing.” 

She was looking at him with something else now. Something that, shockingly, he couldn’t read. Jerome retracted his hands and turned from her. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Miss Quinn.” He quickly left. It felt like he was retreating. 

He WAS retreating damnit.

When he was outside of the infirmary he leaned against the thick door to collect himself. What the hell was that nonsense? This didn’t happen. Ever. Maybe it was time for his meds. 

Jerome checked his watch and growled. He then stretched his neck to loosen himself up. 

He would have to stay up all night. Go over the case files again, until his eyes melted from their fucking sockets! Map out her criminal career, her associates, her child, her EVERYTHING. There had to be a fool proof plan so that this bullshittery would not happen again. Facts and strategy were all that mattered.

Doctor Jerome turned back to peer through the window in the door. Two guards and a nurse were around Harley. The curtain of the partition was pulled all the way back so he could see her clearly.

Gone was the arched brow and insane grin. She didn’t heckle anyone around her with inappropriate or morbid anecdotes. She simply looked up at the ceiling, lips in a relaxed smile.

She looked…normal.


	12. Doctor's Orders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote and deleted 2 drafts of this. I just wasn't getting something right with Jerome. I finally pieced things together to form something that satisfied my vision. Writing Jerome is tough, because I'm trying to do Joker justice... but also stay true to the journey shown in this AU.
> 
> The struggle is real...

“And how did that make you feel…” 

Smoke rose and clouded the dim lighting above. An over-used question to create introspective dialogue about oneself. Jerome’s watched the wispy cloud swirl violently up and then dissipate into a dull haze.

He scoffed at the patronizing tone of the questioner. He just needed an answer that would keep the small nagging sensation in his gut from growing into something unbearable. Perhaps a change of topic would suffice. 

“Could you put that out?” Jerome swatted at the hazy air.

“Eat me.” A black polished middle finger erected itself at the couched doctor, while crimson lips took another deep puff. “Answer the damn question, pretty boy.” Another long exhale out.

Jerome stretched his neck from side to side. There was so much tension in that location, the movement barely did anything. He did the action again with vigor, growling at himself: Harley looking up at him, her expression changing as his hand, of it’s own volition, touched her hair. In reality it was barely any contact between thumb and a few strands… but his memory kept changing it, until it was basically a fist full of that golden hair spilling between his fingers. Her blue eyes shifted up under her long blonde lashes to meet his mercury gaze…

Jerome had a fist of his own hair, tugging at his locks to contain the scene in his head. It refused to fade away into the loud static of his over-stimulated brain. Nested and unreachable. He delivered a few open-palmed hits to the side of his head to jostle it loose.

A playful chuckle. “Well… shit. I don’t think either of us thought the thing to cook your goose would be a skirt. Cliche as fuck…but whatever wets your whistle.”

“This isn’t normal. I shouldn’t be conflicted like this.” Jerome finally said. The pit in his stomach was becoming a dull, throbbing ache. He just wanted to rip himself open and tear out that relentless feeling. Feel nothing at all. “Christ, I haven’t even had an official session with her…it’s unprofessional. I… I should tell Leland-”

“Oh shshshshuuuush, now. I know you don’t want that. You wanna saaaave the girl.” A purr emanated from…well, Jerome couldn’t tell if it was from himself or not.

“That’s what I’m paid to do. I help people.” the doctor on the couch replied, but his voice betrayed how little he was convinced of that last mantra.

“Do you really believe that? 

The disheveled doctor paused at that inquiry, absent-mindedly straightening his tie. All he could think of was Harley, or rather Harleen…in a nondescript suit and modest makeup, milling around with all the other useless rats in this grand race. Completely normal. Sane. 

Jerome winced at the image, at the sheer tragedy of it. He could see his own face in that lusterless crowd. Trapped and never appreciated for what he really could be. Fur singed. Claws torn out. Fangs dulled. All in exchange for roaming out in the open. Ever admiring the predatory creatures that walked through Arkham’s gates. 

A creature like Harley Quinn.

Jerome took a shuddering breath. “I…want to save her.”

Another chuckle. “I think that would be in our best interest.” A tumblr of whiskey was held out to the young doctor. “Your medicine. Two doses before bed should do the trick…”

Jerome reluctantly took the offering, staring at it’s amber contents for an eternal moment.

“Doctor’s orders.” he was encouraged.

Jerome tilted his head back, taking in a hearty sip of the smooth whiskey, but halted abruptly as it’s bitter kick awakened his senses. He found himself staring down at his own coffee table, with files chaotically organized to meet the needs of a furiously operating mind. Joker card smiles and devil horns peaked through from its glass surface, between countless Harley Quinn clippings and photos. The fiery amber liquid swirled around in his mouth luxuriously as he contemplated whether or not to go down this rabbit hole…knowing full well the deranged darkness it would lead to.

Jerome promptly got up with the glass and headed to the sink in his kitchen. He spit out the burning contents and rinsed his mouth out with water from the spigot before pouring the rest of the glass down the drain. He put his palms down against the counter’s cool marble, eyes closed. He then let out a breath he had been holding.

It took him years to forge some semblance of a normal life. To be ‘free’. Tumbling off the wagon would surely open the door to something more uncontrollable than just a budding crush for a pretty patient’s face. Something that Doctor Jerome couldn’t come back from. He knew he wouldn’t.

He wouldn’t want to.

Because, when surrendered to his base desires, he knew he was a person prone to make horrendously bad decisions. To choose them. Outright. Life was more fun that way. 

So he watched the the liquor swirl down the drain, organized the mess on his coffee table into coherent piles, prepared for bed, and wrapped up the routine with his nightly medication ritual…

One little blue pill, two little whites, big ass yellow one, and a pink one just to defuse the negative effects of the blue. He took them all at once, as usual, with water from his Batman bathroom cup. 

He slid between the silken black sheets of his bed, finding himself staring at his bedroom ceiling. Wide awake. It was always an annoyingly long process to fall asleep. Despite how strictly he adhered to a structured sleep cycle to compensate for the demands of his schedule…night time always ignited his creativity. Made his body anxious, desiring a challenge that morning runs couldn’t slate. Jerome was conjuring the twists and turns that might occur at tomorrow’s session with Harley and how he could navigate them… when he realized that there was too much light coming into his bedroom.

He sat up to see that the main window in his room had its dark drapes partially pulled back. He got out of bed and treaded over to them. Easy thing to forget. He had been very distracted as of late. But when he glanced out, he noticed movement at the top of the building directly across the street from his apartment. 

Of course Jerome couldn’t be sure, but he though he saw a long cape trail behind the figure as they ducked out of his view. He showed his adamant disdain for this invasion of privacy with a harrowing glare before yanking the drapes shut. But then, in the regained privacy of his bedroom, a small smirk played on his lips.

It really was a complement, to have become such an interest to the Batman. But seeing as how the Cat Lady and Weed had not paid a visit, the brooding vigilante must have been doing something right. Not that Dr. Jerome wasn’t prepared for an eventual villainous break-in.

It was accommodating to have a thorough, free security system in place. Tights and all.

 

***

 

Batgirl ducked down, diving for cover. She reattached her night vision goggles to her utility belt. 

“Nice.” she muttered, cursing herself.

Batman base voice buzzed on the comlink in Barbara’s cowl. “Did the target see you?”

“Nope.” she retorted. “Just…stepped in gum.”

“Make sure you return the suit in pristine condition.” There was a pause. It was clear that he drinking from a mug of coffee. And the echo of the feed denoted his location in the bat cave. “And no more Starbucks on patrol. Those sugary concoctions leave residues that I’m sure Alfred appreciates scrubbing down…”

“Or maybe they should just make better lids for cable-travel.” Batgirl retorted. “And it was one time…”

“You swung through a drive-thru.”

“And it was awesome. Made Youtube!”

“Barbara…”

Batgirl rolled her eyes with a grin. “Fine, fine… blood and rubble on the suit, only. Got it.” As dry as he was, banter showed that he cared. It was nice to get chewed out on something as normal as dry cleaning. Considering the line of work. But there was a limit; time to get back to the task at hand.

“The Doctor is down for the evening. His blinds were closed in the living room, but heat signatures showed that he stayed pretty close to the couch when he got home. Looks like he was doing some kind of research…”

“Probably for his first session with Harleen.” Bruce paused, unsatisfied with her findings. “Any erratic behavior?”

“Heat signatures can look like blobs sometimes, as you know… but there was one moment that was…odd.” Barbara got out the goggles again and scanned the apartment building.

“Do tell.”

“Well, he drank something off his coffee table, froze, and then went to the kitchen sink to spit it out immediately.”

“Poison?”

“I don’t think so. The guy poured it for himself and then… I don’t know… decided he didn’t want it?” Barbara shrugged. It wasn’t an amazing find; she was just trying to be thorough. “But then his behavior was routine. No distress.”

“Hmmm.”

“Something you’d like to share with the class, Bruce?”

“Report back. It’s a school night.” He ignored her inquiry. “I’ll be down there in a few minutes.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I only have one afternoon class tomorrow.” Barbara replied. “Besides, it’s a quiet evening, but there’s some plant life on the side of the apartment that I’m keeping my eye on.”

“Oh? Any cause for concern?”

“Well, It’s hard to tell if it’s sentient or just bad maintenance. I don’t mind staying here awhile longer. You just got back from Metropolis. Take a breather.”

“…Right.” A brief pause. “I’m heading over to Center Street. There’s a lead on Penguin’s recent activities. I’ll relieve you in one hour.”

Barbara shook her head, sighing. “Alright. Batgirl, out.”

**Author's Note:**

> So I wanted to present a Doctah J that is believable in that he could have a job as a psychiatrist (by some over-sight in Dr. Arkham's failing judgement)... but who really SHOULDN'T be one because of everything that is going on underneath. His temper is short, his mind goes to violence when someone bores or annoys him, and he is #1 in his world. Any acts of kindness are really him just going through the motions because that is what is expected of him. He's completely lying to himself in thinking that he can keep living like this. Hopefully that will become clear with more chapters!
> 
> I hope you are enjoying! Please enjoy some coffee and bars on your way out! :)


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